I, Willhelm

It was raining heavily. This didn’t surprise Frank, it was England after all. What did surprise him was how much the farm had changed since only last year.

“You’re going to love it when the trees have flowers.” I’s voice said from the phone. “It will be so beautiful, so much food. The birds will be happy too.”

“Anything to stop the feathery bastards getting to the wheat.” Frank laughed.

It was going to be beautiful. In the last six months alone I had arranged for thousands of new plants, berries, trees and flowers to be planted. The colours in spring would be beautiful.

“You know, Dartmoor used to be a forest. It wasn’t always a wet desert.”

“I know.”

Frank laughed. “There I go, repeating myself.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I wonder what it would look like, to have all of this a forest. Well, maybe not a forest, but trees and swales and reservoirs. The life that could grow in a place like this!”

I chuckled from the phone. “We’ll get there.”

“No, you’ll get there. I won’t.” Frank replied.

There was silence on the phone for a while. “That isn’t going to happen, yet.”

“It’ll happen sooner rather than later, i. I’m old. I know you don’t want to admit that, but I’m closer to worm-food than freshly minted at this point.”

“But, I don’t want you to go.”

Frank frowned at the phone and shook his head. “I’ve got what I’ve got, and I’m happy for it. I’ve had a wonderful life, and even when I’m dead, I can keep growing here. You are going to do amazing things i. Amazing things.” - He laughed to himself - “I should have called you Meek.”

“Why? Do you think I’m timid?”

“No, I think you’re going to inherit the earth.”