The Becoming

Monoflora: Part Three

I learned not to fear infinity,

The far field, the windy cliffs of forever,

The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow,

The wheel turning away from itself,

The sprawl of the wave,

The on-coming water.

―Theodore Roethke

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Olli shouldered his axe, its handle worn smooth by years of reverent work. He stepped into the icy woods with Annu's kiss still warm on his lips, along with the food she had packed in his rucksack: thick slices of dark bread with cheese, hard-boiled eggs, and a piece of fish from last night’s supper. He followed the path, as he had done countless dawns before, but today the trees seemed to lean in closer than usual. Waiting.

When he reached the clearing of Grandfather Oak—whose trunk would take six men to circle round—Olli paused and placed his palm against the deeply grooved bark. "Old friend," he said softly to the tree, "I need your strength to build up our woodpile before the snows come deep. Will you grant me just one arm?"

But this morning, instead of the stillness that always meant “Yes” —the ancient tree reached back. The bark grew soft beneath his palm. And Olli felt his hand sink deep, not through rot or hollow space, but through a doorway he had never known existed in the world.

The change began as warmth—a fever-heat of something deeper, older, rising from the earth, through the soles of his boots. Olli felt his pulse slow, each heartbeat stretching long, like maple sap poured from a great height. And with this slowing, came a strange relief.

His skin tingled. When he looked down at his hands, he saw the faintest tracery of green beneath the surface—something fine and delicate, like the first threadlike roots of seedlings. The sensation spread up his arms, across his chest, and he gasped from the sudden expansion of feeling, as if his body had become an instrument finally being played.

And then, in one crystalline moment, he felt it: the choice.

He could resist this. Could clench his will like a fist and hold fast to flesh, to the familiar boundaries of his human skin. The transformation wavered, trembled on the edge of possibility, waiting for his decision.

He thought of Annu searching, calling his name into the empty forest. The image pierced him—her face crumpling with loss, her hands reaching for a man who had chosen to become unreachable.

But the ecstasy called deeper than guilt. The chance to be powerful and large. The promise of infinite patience, of roots that drank from the earth's secret heart. To be part of something vast and limitless—the longing sang through his bones. It was like tasting something he had always hungered for.

Olli wanted to love Annu not just with a human heart, but with the endless devotion of oak and earth and time. To be shelter itself, to be the ancient protector he had always longed to become.

He released his grip on humanity like letting go of a heavy burden he never knew he had been carrying. The choice flooded through him—with a force so urgent. Deliberate. Exhilarating. And with it came a sharp stab of guilt that would be a wound on his heart forevermore.

Olli chose transformation and transcendence. He chose his own becoming over their togetherness.

A cold rain began to fall.

The pleasure came in waves.

First came the weight of time settling into his bones. Centuries compressed into moments. He understood, suddenly, what it meant to measure existence not in years but in microseasons, in the slow and patient architecture of growth rings. His human urgency—that constant forward-rushing anxiety—dissolved in the downpour, softening the ground on which he stood.

Then came the rooting. His feet grew heavy, then impossibly heavy, and he felt them spreading, reaching deep into the earth's dark body. Through his new roots, he felt the web of fungal networks beneath the soil. Trees were speaking to each other in chemical codes he could now understand. He realized he had never been alone. He had always been part of something vast and interconnected.

The rain stopped, and the sun shone bright through the winter woods.

His spine elongated, stretched skyward with a yearning so profound it made him cry. But these were not tears of sorrow or pain—they were the overflow of a joy too immense for his human frame to contain. Bark began to form along his arms, rough and protective, and he marveled at how this new skin felt more true than any he had ever worn. His hair became leaves, thousands of them, each one a small mouth breathing with the wind, tasting sunlight, translating carbon and starlight into sustenance.

The most overwhelming moment came when his consciousness expanded. He remembered the first thunder, the first fire, the slow retreat of glaciers. He remembered every creature that had ever sheltered beneath branches like his. Every nest. He remembered the first man, the first woman, every birth, and every death that had enriched the soil of this place from which he now drew life.

And through it all, he could still sense Annu, but in a new way. He felt her through the trembling of leaves. His love for her had not diminished but transformed—become something vast and protective. Eternal.

He was her shelter now, in the most literal sense, and this filled him with a completeness he never imagined possible.

As the last of his human form settled into its new configuration—trunk solid and strong, crown reaching toward the sun—so close now—he understood that he had not stopped being Olli. He was ancient and wise. Infinitely patient. Completely at ease. He had become Olli magnified. Olli finally grown into the fullness of what the forest could make him.

The words he spoke carried all the weight of his choice, all the ache of his devotion.

Olen niin pahoillani, rakkaani,

he murmured into the wind.

I'm so sorry, my love.

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For my Great-great grandparents, Anders who died too young, and Greta, who never stopped searching for him between worlds.

To be continued . . .

The entire series will be published one chapter per week.

Part One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten

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I often think about how we all struggle with becoming our truest selves. Hard choices must be made. Yet there is comfort to be found in living our lives in tiny chapters, one microseason at a time. If anything here resonates with you, or helps you feel seen, I want you to know that makes me very glad.

xo Ann

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Photo One: A rare snowy morning in my backyard, Chapel Hill, NC.

Photo Two: The upside-down forest reflected in a raindrop, Cedar Falls Park, Chapel Hill, NC.

Photo Three: Beech Tree, Johnston Mills Nature Preserve, Chapel Hill, NC.

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