[ WP ] The year is 3017 . The whole world is `` futuristic '' and everything is clinical ( smooth , clean etc . You are the head of a vigilante group that plants trees in public areas .

`` If you asked most people about their general opinion on trees, they would probably answer, `` Trees? Those things still exist?'' The truth is, most people do n't much of an opinion on trees. Most people born in the past few centuries have n't even seen a tree before, and have never been graced by the subtle wonders of the colorful shades of oak in the fall, or the retreat of a willow, or the brawn of the sequoia. These sorts of things only existed in photographs of old encyclopedias. 
 
 `` When synthetic wood was first created, most were quick to adopt. Synthetic wood possessed superior qualities, they claimed. It was not flammable, it was sturdy, it was cheap, and *it looked just like wood*. So we did n't need trees anymore! In fact, every reason for which a tree is useful — for shelter, for warmth, for oxygen, for wildlife habitats, for aesthetic pleasure on a nice evening walk — has been invalidated by synthetic wood and other equally absurd human inventions. 
 
 `` Anyone who has ever struck a match before can understand what I'm saying, because when you strike a match, it grants you a sort of control, a dominance, over something that is untamed. On the tip of the math dances a flame that disregards everything else, and only burns so long as you allow it. And seeing that wood burn away, being consumed by raw nature, is something that is lost on people these days. I read stories about great fires that could be seen from miles away, burning away hundreds of thousands of trees, leaving behind nothing but charred yet fertile ground, on which new trees would grow. A cycle that would've continued indefinitely, until humans said, `` we do n't need trees anymore. Trees are bothersome, ugly, and catch on fire. Let's do away with them.'' And so they did. 
 
 `` This is why it is important to plant trees. Trees give us life, they give us beauty, and they give us joy. We must not let people forget where our humanity is rooted. We must remind them of the trees!'' 
 
 Everyone was required to read this passage written by the founder when they were accepted into the Tree Planting Club, which was hardly a club, and more like a collection of distinct and autonomous cells operating in different cities around the country. I was introduced by a childhood friend to this club, David. David was obsessed with trees ever since childhood, and would show me pictures of all sorts of trees when we were kids. `` My dad's a botanist,'' he would say, `` but he hates trees.'' 
 
 In all honesty, I often doubted the validity of the goal of the Tree Planting Club. Humanity has gone hundreds of years with most people not having even been influenced in some minute way by a tree. Not even food grew on trees anymore. Every food was replaced a synthetic version that ( supposedly ) tasted better, was cheaper to make, and did n't require constant watering and maintenance to produce. 
 
 I joined the TPC soon after I found out Dad had been arrested for planting trees in public spaces. He was a writer, and one I looked up to, even though his novels never sold well. He had a spunk and determination that made him a great writer, but a terrible father. I wanted to follow in his footsteps, and if it was n't my path to follow, so be it. I would quit TPC and get a normal job. But I'd like to think that I'm a writer too, and I wanted to write about something interesting, like trees, and how they affected people. 
 
 That's how I found myself in the back of a cargo truck, sitting on the floor ( if you can even call the sterile, metal base of a cargo box a floor ), fiddling with the lamplight, which seemed to flicker and die every few seconds. David held a grim look on his face. After all, we were about to commit one of the greatest acts of vandalism: planting a tree. Because no one likes to admit when they are nervous, we sat in the humid box in silence, allowing the solid air to pull the hair on our necks up straight and pull the sweat from the pores on our palms. 
 
 In between us lay a great maple tree. According to the books, the tree stood shorter than most, but it largest one I've seen and was apparently the largest one we could fit into the cargo box. 
 
 `` A minute from the plant site,'' Camille said from the front. 
 
 We began to prepare our gear. We revved up our motorized shovel, our Chizzler™, and suited up into our exoskeletons, and Camille flicked on her police signal interceptor. 
 
 Planting a tree used to be easy. I read a pamphlet once that taught people how to plant trees, and it went like this: Find a soft area of dirt and dig a hole, and then drop the tree in the hole so the leaves are facing up. Then refill the gaps in the hole with dirt, pack it tight, and leave the tree. Tie ropes to support the tree of necessary. 
 
 Obviously there was no dirt patches or soft soil in the middle of Times Square, where we were headed tonight to plant a tree. 
 
 Luckily, we arrived when there were only a few people walking the streets, perhaps tourists who think it would be a neat experience to walk around Times Square at three in the morning. Even at this hour, you could n't see the moon even if it were straight above. We built these buildings to look as if they were stretching out to reach for the stars, yet we blocked out the whole sky in the process. So people do n't look up anymore, except to watch the endless panels of advertisements flash by faster than we can understand them. 
 
 As the truck came to the stop, we slid open the backdoor of the cargo box and hopped out. We had a short window of operations, so we moved quickly. David grabbed the Chizzler and spun the motor up to a speed where it could destroy even fortified concrete. The plan was simple — drill a hold in the sidewalk, fill it with soil, roll the tree in, and cover the hole back up. Just as described in the pamphlet. 
 
 As the Chizzler hit the concrete, the machinery made an awful, dull roar that probably awakened anyone within a three block radius of us. But it worked fast, and within 30 seconds, there was a tree-sized cavity in the sidewalk, filled with loose concrete and industrial dust. I used the shovel to remove all the excess rock fragments, while David lifted the tree out of the cargo box with the help of his exoskeleton. 
 
 `` Hurry up, people are watching, it's only time before someone calls the police!'' Camille yelled from the truck. 
 
 We did n't say anything, but it was clear to her that we acknowledged the urgency. We moved like clockwork, yet it still did n't feel like enough time. David was holding the tree upright as I ripped open bags of soil and began emptying them into the hole. It took nearly five or six large bags to complete fill the hole until the soil was packed tightly enough that the tree could stand upright by itself. 
 
 `` The police are on their way, we got ta go,'' Camille said. 
 
 There was n't enough time to clean up after ourselves. The Tree Planting Club had a policy of never leaving a mess when they planted, because it would reflect poorly on the organization. The TPC also had a policy of `` not getting caught'' because people who were truly enthusiastic enough about trees to commit great acts of vandalism were obnoxiously hard to come by. We dashed back into the cargo box, and as the truck pulled off we watched the tree become smaller and smaller through the open back door, until it was a stub in the urban landscape. 
 
 `` Let's hope that went well,'' David mumbled as he pulled the back door down, which hit the floor with a mighty bang. 
 
 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- 
 
 I fully expected the tree to be removed when I woke up. The city was usually pretty good about vandalism. However, I opted not to read the news that morning and decided to take the metro into the city and see for myself the result of our work. Would they tape off that section of the sidewalk? Would the lasting impact of our highly rehearsed tree planting just going to be a brand new section of concrete in Times Square? 
 
 I sipped my coffee as I rounded the corner into the Times Square center. There was a huge congregation, with people clamoring and yelling and shoving, which was naturally the result of thousands of New Yorkers and unwitting tourists packed into one tiny block. But above all their heads, I could still see it. The brilliant radiance of burnt orange maple leaves, `` the color of Autumn.'' The tree was taller, grander, and much more majestic than I remembered, and had apparently not been cut down. It stood gorgeously in the autumn sunlight. 
 
 I later discovered that soon after we planted the tree, a group of locals, woken by the noise, took interest with the tree and surrounded it when the authorities came, to prevent the tree from being cut down. In a short period of time in the early morning, the news had spread and hundreds of people rushed to the tree's defense and created a human wall. And by noon that day, it had become national news, and everyone who enjoyed the bustle of pivotal events gathered at Times Square. 
 
 They kept the tree, by the way. It was one of the only trees planted by TPC that did n't get almost immediately removed. This tree is almost twice the size, many times the awesomeness of the original tree we had planted years ago, and is maintained by the City of New York. Hopefully, now, when people visit Times Square, they'll have something to look up to that is n't those chrome edifices and their gloomy dispositions. No, I know they'll just be able to stand under the tree and look up, and they'll understand something inexplicable they had n't before, like they'd solved a great mystery in their lives they had n't known even existed. 
 
 edit: slight edits to the story to make it more consistent 

