trees

 The orange hues of sundown colour the trees outside my window a rustic green 🍂 

I stare at them through my thin-rimmed glasses, letting the nerves in my eyes pick up the sharp edges and jagged lines of the leafy leaves, languishing in my high-definition experience of such a scene. Without my glasses, everything is a blur and I cannot for the life of me tell where one leaf ends and its stem begins. I know that every leaf has a different hue because every leaf is turned at a different angle, catching the light in a different way. But now I can actually see proof of such a beautiful illustration of chaos and randomness, one of nature's best anecdotes. The way leaves are arranged on a tree, the way lines are etched into the bark, the way seeds are scattered by a "pop" or carried by the wind. Nature, what a wondrous, magnificent beast. Always thrumming with vitality, never cold and still. Except for when winter comes.

Where I live, the trees never shed their green and the soil never grows a coat. Living in a tropical country, where with every season the trees seem to stay the same, you learn to appreciate the ordinary. Without bombastic transformations from green to brown to white, you enjoy the familiar scene that unfolds before you every day, an uplifting reminder that despite turmoil and conflict, the view always stays the same. When your dreams are uprooted and you are left with absolutely nothing, grasping at straws, or your hair, in twisted rage and helpless agony, the trees stand solidly outside your home. The samurai. They watch in silence and blend into the background. They are invisible warriors who lend their strength to anyone in need, without deceit. What selflessness, and they do it for free!

In nature, there is unpredictability. It is difficult to relinquish power to the great unknown, so some of us wrest that autonomy and seal themselves in concrete jungles, where every variable can be controlled. Before the Fukushima nuclear meltdown in 2011, the engineers designing the plant built it to withstand a magnitude seven tsunami. At that time, the strongest tsunami to ever hit Japan clinched a rating of six on the moment magnitude scale, which is logarithmic, meaning that every step up the scale indicated a tsunami that was ten times stronger. As such, most people would assume that preparing for a magnitude seven wall of water would be adequate. They were right to assume that. It was a reasonable estimate based on historical events, but nature does not confine itself to past endeavors. In 2011, the Tohoku earthquake triggered a magnitude eight tsunami, decimating the nuclear power plant's cooling system. This caused the reactor to overheat and melt, which allowed radioactive substances to leak out of the factory and contaminate the soil and water. As such, it is no wonder some people decry nature's reprehensible acts of destruction and do everything in their power to control or remove it. Two sides of the same coin, beautiful intricacies and horrid collapse.

On the other hand, a curious party sees nature as any other technological advancement: a tool to be harnessed and used. They hope that scientific advancements in biochemistry and geology can one day allow us to rein in nature's chaotic side and put it to good use. Obviously, gaining control of such a powerful, bountiful force will be heinously difficult but also immensely rewarding.

What are you waiting for? Onwards, to the dawn of ecological engineering!