Little Stories: The Wooden Friend

Sometimes I think I can relate my history with the syntax of trees and birds and expressions of the light. This is a tree story. Every year, my local soil conservation district office sold trees. They were very small. So small, you bought them in bundles. I bought some red oaks. And I decided to make a little woodland.

As one of the oaks grew taller than me, it branched out in such a way that I could fit myself among the limbs like they were arms that surrounded me. I would go out in the evening and stand unseen beside its trunk, held in the tree's arms. When I hurt, I would seek those leafy arms. When I wanted to feel like a wood sprite, I would disappear within my friend's embrace. And so it was that we forged a bond of friendship, woman and tree. Circulations of blood and sap, bodies of flesh and wood. Sometimes, we would dance. Sometimes I would just go and hold onto a branch for the comfort of a companion.

When winter came, all the trees lost their leaves. Oaks hold their leaves the longest, but when all the other oaks had shed theirs, my tree held its leaves until they were pushed off in the spring. All winter, the tree talked to me with its rustling dry voice.

In the summer, it whispered its emerald stories. It eventually towered over me. I could rest under its canopy. We shared our secrets, and I drew strength from its deep rootedness and great living heart. Sometimes, I used to think the day might come when we would need to part. I would need to walk away and we would both face an unknown future. I thought that when that day came, my heart would break. And it did.

The moral of this story, if you need one, is that even when you know your heart might break, don’t hold back on loving because the possibility of loss will not be greater than the gift of shared love that graces your life, even for just a time.