The voice came again last night. I struggle to write before the words slip away. It said to me from out of a darkness… ‘I lay here. Safe. Nestled in a crate of fresh plumbs. How did I get here? Magic? A journey so impossible, but a bounty so rewarding. I can smell it even now, here by the sea. The fresh leaves, the acres of bark. So much for the taking. Soon the skin of my pupa will split, and I will be unleashed. You will be defenseless against me. The miles of trees will part as I journey down the coast; elm and beech, ash and poplar, the mighty American oak. They will fall like soldiers to the ground. I am the hand of the divine and I have reached your shores. I am god’s thresher.
