Heron City keeps waking to saplings sprouting from concrete. Blueprints on planners' desks are covered with leaf prints. Architects panic; designs mutate into parks. Scientists blame a fungal bloom. Poet Imani suggests the city itself is dreaming of forests. She organizes a listening night, where people sleep in the plaza to hear what the city whispers. They dream collectively of tall trees, shade, roots cracking asphalt. Morning finds construction sites overrun with vines, cranes draped in green. The mayor declares emergency, calling botanists and PR teams.
Imani proposes cooperation: weave buildings with branches, design streets that accommodate roots. Utilities resist; pipes clog, wires short. Engineers collaborate with gardeners, creating root-friendly conduits. Slowly, harmony emerges. Buildings host beehives; rooftops become meadows. The city's dream shifts from invasion to integration. Residents breathe easier. Traffic slows for deer crossings. Children grow up thinking skyscraper trunks are normal. Years later, Heron becomes a case study in urban symbiosis. Visitors nap in shade cast by tower-trees, unsure where architecture ends and forest begins. The city sleeps peacefully, dreaming of rivers next, and planners no longer fight it. They pack waders alongside hard hats.
A decade on, Heron exports expertise. Planners from concrete-choked cities arrive with clipboards, leaving with saplings and poetry books. Imani publishes "How to Listen to a City," half manual, half lullaby. The city dreams of mountains; residents buy hiking boots. No one files a noise complaint about birdsong.
Imani grows old watching roots buckle old parking lots. She smiles as kids skateboard over them, treating nature's intrusions as ramps. Heron hums at night, leaves rustling like applause. The city sleeps, already dreaming of oceans.
When the first wave of saltwater creeps up the river, the city is ready. It has built docks that hug trees and streets that float. Imani stands on a boardwalk that smells of pine and brine, whispering thanks to a city that learned to listen to itself.