Mosscap pointed. “Crown shyness is so striking, don’t you think?” Dex had no idea what Mosscap meant. “Sorry, what’s striking?”
“Stop,” Mosscap said. “Look.”
Dex sighed, but they hit the brakes, put their feet on the paving below, and looked up. Mosscap continued to point, tracing lines in the air. “Look at the treetops,” it said. “What do you notice?”
“Uh,” Dex said. They frowned, not knowing what Mosscap was getting at. There were branches, obviously, and leaves, and … “Oh. Oh, they’re…” They fell quiet as their perspective of the surrounding landscape shifted in a way they’d never unsee.

Despite their number and close proximity, none of the treetops were touching one another. It was as though someone had taken an eraser and run it cleanly through the canopy, transforming each tree into its own small island contained within a definitive border of blue sky. The effect reminded Dex of puzzle pieces laid out on the table, each in their own place yet still unconnected. It wasn’t that the trees were unhealthy or their foliage sparse. On the contrary, every tree was lush and full, bursting with green life. Yet somehow, in the absence of contact, they knew exactly where to stop growing outward so that they might give their neighbors space to thrive.

“How…” Dex began to ask.
“No one knows,” Mosscap said. “At least, not to my knowledge. Some say it’s to minimize competition. Others think it’s to prevent the spread of disease. But as to how the trees know when to hold themselves back, I don’t know. It’s a mystery.”