In the middle of the old forest, there was an even older tree. It had seen countless parched Augusts, glacial Januaries, blue-skied Junes, rainy Aprils. It loved the whole year, but that spring season was its favorite, when the hibernating creatures started to sleepily come out of their dens, when the green began to return, when the piercing winds turned gentle.
The branches of the tree gave shelter for birds’ nests, the hollows made homes for many squirrel families, holes near its roots made burrows for rabbits. The tree loved every creature who came close to it, whether they only paused a moment to scurry up its trunk on the way to do something important or they lived around it until they left this world. The animals came and went while the tree remained, but it was used to this by now.
Resting under the tree was a girl. Sometimes she lay in the grass under the tree and looked up at the sky while the shadows of the leaves made a pattern on her face, and sometimes she used nuts and berries to try and make friends with the squirrels. Most days, though, she sat with her back against the tree and read books in the shade. Even when the wind blew cold and snow covered the ground, she would come. The girl loved the tree almost as much as she loved books. She did not know that the pages of her books were made from trees.
The tree knew, but it didn’t mind. It knew that she didn’t want to hurt any living thing, and it perhaps loved her the most out of any of the creatures that decided to stay for a while.
The girl grew older, and as life swept her up in its current, she visited the tree less and less. She also read her books less and less, but the tree did not know that. She rarely thought about the small clearing in the woods where the squirrels trusted her enough to eat out of her hands, where the grass was soft and the space between two roots of the tree fit her body perfectly. When she did, she remembered it fondly, though it always seemed like a dream, something from her imagination in her childhood.
When she returned to her parents’ house for the first time in a while, she noticed all the things that were different. Her mothers seemed a little more worn, the house just slightly darker. Still, it seemed to welcome her like she was coming home, even though this place wasn’t her home anymore.
The girl who was now a woman looked out the window as she sipped her tea, and something seemed off about the landscape outside. She could’ve sworn when she was a child that she could see the forest where the tree was from this window.
She asked her mothers about it, and what they told her confirmed her fears; the old forest had been cut down to make room for the new condos that were being built the next spring. What had once been a beautiful forest, full of mystery and almost magic, was now an empty field.
The woman cried in her childhood bedroom, even though she knew it was silly to cry over such a small thing. It was only a tree, after all. Nothing more. Just a plant growing out of the ground. Still, she felt a sense of loss now that she knew it was gone forever.
Eventually, though, she moved on with her life and forgot all about the tree. She watched passively as people cleared more forests to make room for houses and factories, and didn’t stop to think about how many trees like the one she’d loved as a child were being cut down. Not even when the company she worked for talked about clearing trees did she think about the animals that would lose their homes, the children who wouldn’t have a place where they could sit in the shade and do whatever they wanted.
The branches of the tree gave shelter for birds’ nests, the hollows made homes for many squirrel families, holes near its roots made burrows for rabbits. The tree loved every creature who came close to it, whether they only paused a moment to scurry up its trunk on the way to do something important or they lived around it until they left this world. The animals came and went while the tree remained, but it was used to this by now.
Resting under the tree was a girl. Sometimes she lay in the grass under the tree and looked up at the sky while the shadows of the leaves made a pattern on her face, and sometimes she used nuts and berries to try and make friends with the squirrels. Most days, though, she sat with her back against the tree and read books in the shade. Even when the wind blew cold and snow covered the ground, she would come. The girl loved the tree almost as much as she loved books. She did not know that the pages of her books were made from trees.
The tree knew, but it didn’t mind. It knew that she didn’t want to hurt any living thing, and it perhaps loved her the most out of any of the creatures that decided to stay for a while.
The girl grew older, and as life swept her up in its current, she visited the tree less and less. She also read her books less and less, but the tree did not know that. She rarely thought about the small clearing in the woods where the squirrels trusted her enough to eat out of her hands, where the grass was soft and the space between two roots of the tree fit her body perfectly. When she did, she remembered it fondly, though it always seemed like a dream, something from her imagination in her childhood.
When she returned to her parents’ house for the first time in a while, she noticed all the things that were different. Her mothers seemed a little more worn, the house just slightly darker. Still, it seemed to welcome her like she was coming home, even though this place wasn’t her home anymore.
The girl who was now a woman looked out the window as she sipped her tea, and something seemed off about the landscape outside. She could’ve sworn when she was a child that she could see the forest where the tree was from this window.
She asked her mothers about it, and what they told her confirmed her fears; the old forest had been cut down to make room for the new condos that were being built the next spring. What had once been a beautiful forest, full of mystery and almost magic, was now an empty field.
The woman cried in her childhood bedroom, even though she knew it was silly to cry over such a small thing. It was only a tree, after all. Nothing more. Just a plant growing out of the ground. Still, she felt a sense of loss now that she knew it was gone forever.
Eventually, though, she moved on with her life and forgot all about the tree. She watched passively as people cleared more forests to make room for houses and factories, and didn’t stop to think about how many trees like the one she’d loved as a child were being cut down. Not even when the company she worked for talked about clearing trees did she think about the animals that would lose their homes, the children who wouldn’t have a place where they could sit in the shade and do whatever they wanted.
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