Clump was a small knobbly creature. His head and body were as brown and dusty as the dirt he lived in. His hair was green and mossy and smelled like a freshly dug garden. His eyes were two smooth pebbles. They held the color of the night sky on a black and moonless night.
Clump's people liked to make their homes below trees, below the leaves that lay there rotting as they turned into soil. They dug for bugs and grubs in the loamy soil. They showed the roots where to find a drink and told the flowers when to bloom. In short, they kept the woods healthy.
But, the woods have all but disappeared. Where Clump's favorite trees once stood there now stood great stone giants with impossibly straight bodies that reached high into the sky. And where the undergrowth once lay there now lay endless paths of tar. Tar was no friend of a gnome. Tar never gave life. It was only good for taking life and preserving the dead.
Now, Clump made his home in a large hollow rock. He shared his new home with a single tree. It was well kept by a creature with a voice like thunder and the rain in his hands. Clump would never let the creature see him. Something that lived inside a giant and could control the weather was no friend to him.
His new home stood on the eyelid of one of the stone giants. It looked out on other giants and the tar paths below. Every day, Clump climbed the branches of the tree. He searched the horizon for any sign of other trees. He searched for a new home. He searched for his people. But, for all Clump knew, he was the last of his kind.
This was a short fairy tale about the unseen things in life. And the lifeless cities that dominate our view.