Under the cover of the night, between the others, down the hill, up the hill. Through the valleys. Not staying too long in the river, though it is quite tempting and dangerous at the same time. She ran as secretly as she could. As long as her young roots carried her. Closer and close to central park. Here she would hide, in the rambles. She would pretend to have been planted as requested by Olmstead and Vaux themselves. She would live to be hundreds of years, she would be in the papers, not the papers. She would look at buildings for who's erection no trees had been harmed. She would maybe even get a part in the movies... maybe...
Right now she had to somehow get past that Hudson River, America's Rhine, a big time water barrier. And she could not even remember if she knew how to swim.