I dreamed I was a tree in a city of people who forgot how to look up

I stood at the edge of a sidewalk, roots tangled in cracked concrete, and every time someone passed beneath me, they didn’t see the leaves trembling. Not even when the wind came. One woman paused, tilted her head—just for a second—and then kept walking, eyes on her phone. I wanted to scream, but my bark was too thick. The dream wasn’t about being heard. It was about the quiet grief of being seen but never noticed. I woke up with the taste of sap in my mouth and a strange urge to check if my old harness still fits.