Rain pours into the dry soil, trickling in through the crevices. Dry roots, hiding like ants in the ground, now burgeon with moisture. Upon my trunk, yellow blooms of fungi quiver as beads of water form on their flat tops. Amongst the irregular vibrations of the road traffic, I feel the familiar bubbling of cells as we expand symbiotically. For days I have been wilting with thirst, but as water disperses throughout me, I feel suppleness return to even the spindliest of branches. I sway alongside my sparse brethren in the man-made gusts of the motorway.