what manner of forest is this? are there no creatures here? not even the chirp of crickets this night. where have they gone? hark, the breadfruit tree speaks. o brawny one, bearer of meaty fruit, gifts from the gods, your broad leaves so cool to the touch. what is that to which you point?
ah, to that banyan tree, black against the moonlight. a venerable soul, sacred, limbs lifting thick canopies, leafy offerings to the starry dome. what is that noise now? familiar, a whistle, a whine, mosquitoes? no, it's ceaseless, is that you, o great banyan? are you calling out? how to heed your call o goddess of the earth? let us stroke your gnarly bark, mute witness to millennia.
ah, the ground opens. the sound, it's from beneath you o sacred tree, are you letting us in to your labyrinth? ah, what magnificence, it's an orchestra of insects, on pilgrimage to this mecca beneath the soil, oh, how sublime their sound, the voice of the earth, let's open our mouths so insects may sing on our tongues, for we know not how to praise you o goddess, ah, now they are part of us, their voices ours, together we sing this numinous melody, all for you, all for you.
when in doubt, whisper non sequiturs.