The Clearing

There once was a lad who roamed the Eden of his heart. The garden flourished with blossoms of little blessings and delights, ancient oaks of steadfast truths, orchards of sweet virtues, and vistas of long-held dreams for the future. It was autumn, and the leaves had begun waving to the ground like bright warning flags, heralding the approach of a new season. As the boy strolled along, the wind beside him stirred through the leaves along his path until he came unto a new plot of grass. Realization gradually dawned in his young mind that his garden now extended to this empty clearing whose untouched soil seemingly begged to be cultivated.

The lad sat down and began pondering what manner of tree should be grown in such a lovely place. Suddenly compelled by wondrous curiosity, he leapt to his feet and rushed back through the meadows of memories, making his way towards Friendship Grove. This had always been one of his favorite places, and he often retraced the steps of long forgotten footpaths, revisiting the far reaches of the grove to look for a tree he hadn’t climbed for awhile. But this time, the lad came with another purpose.

His eyes glimmered with anticipation as they roved the trees, destining to find the perfect wood. Aspens and Elms, Magnolias and Myrtles whirled past as the lad’s eyes locked on a graceful Thiafeleda that had always held a special place in this grove. As his steps drew him nearer the tree, the boy was awestruck at the possibility of climbing into the branches of this one he hadn’t approached in ages. Would it remember him? Even then, would it offer one of its seeds for the new soil?

The mists of remembrance swirled through its boughs, and as the young lad reached its trunk and gazed up, he couldn’t be sure if the unnaturally beautiful shimmers of blues and gold from the leaves had truly grown there or if it was merely a trick of the light. His fingers fondly revisited the familiar feel of its wood, and the boy couldn’t help envisioning how lovely it would be to cultivate such an incredible tree in the new clearing. But no, it could never be. Though this lovely Thiafeleda stood here unchanged in all its former glory, the countless winters since the days when his enthusiastic comradeship once warmed its wood must surely have sapped the life from this tree, now merely the memorial of a friendship long past. But… what if?

The boy carefully circled the tree, searching for a limb near enough to grasp. But over time, they had all grown too high for the young lad. Undaunted, he leapt up reaching for the nearest branch, silently begging it to bend down and receive his approaching hand. But it stood there, frozen in time, its once limber branches unswayed by the lad’s vain attempts to once again ascend into its forest of leaves. Gravity beckoned the boy back to the earth, reminding him anew of the solid reality whose dirt both smudged his knees yet also offered the unending invitation to plant another seed. The boy’s eyes longingly traced those branches which once held wonderous adventures, now impossibly out of his reach, with only the swirling mists of remembrance playing across them. Was there another way? Could the spark of friendship once more kindle life in this tree?

The wind itself stilled, watching breathlessly as the boy once more began the age-old pattern witnessed countless times in this grove. He tenderly reached out his hand, placed it with a firm kindness on the trunk, and began humming a tune whose swelling vibrations permeated the air and soaked through the unique barrier of bark to the heart of this wood that had not thrummed with such music in years. The boy wove the achingly beautiful melody to its end, yearning with all his heart that the tree still held life inside and that he might somehow reawaken it to new growth. With this fervent hope still throbbing within his heart, the lad stepped back from the tree, waiting expectantly for some response. But nothing moved except the leaves, swaying in a wind whose reach was far greater than his own. After one last long look, the boy turned to go home, pleasantly diverted by ascending a few of his favorites along the way.

~~~

 

The days blew by, and the boy often revisited the precious Thiafeleda to see if his efforts had produced any effect. But the silent stillness which hung thickly in the stagnant air surrounding the majestic tree always gave the same answer. Each time he returned, no signs of life manifested themselves to vindicate his hopeful wish to climb among those branches once again.

The lad also visited the empty clearing from time to time. Seeing its ripe potential only compelled him more strongly to cultivate something wonderful in its deep, rich soil. He would rove every forest, eagerly examining each tree in his search for the perfect opportunity to offer one a home in the consecrated clearing. Yet although each of the trees was quite lovely and well-suited for their unique place in Friendship Grove, for one reason or another, none of them seemed quite right to inhabit a space of such sanctity. And so the boy carried on, bearing the dreadful weight of a good and right desire which mustn’t yet be fulfilled. For though he longed to begin transforming the fresh, new area into a place of beauty and blessing for all who visited, he knew that willfully cultivating the wrong tree there would most certainly be worse than leaving the spot fallow.

Then one morning, as dawn broke the night skies with its colorful radiance, a morning bird gently winged its way through the woods, breaking the night silence by cheering the new day with its song. When the breeze caught the notes and brought them swiftly along to the young lad, the melody deeply resonated with the hopeful thrum of his own heart and reverberated through the whole garden. As if awakened from a pleasant dream to an even more delightful reality, the boy glanced about, intent on catching a glimpse of the bearer of such gladness. The instant his young eyes caught the morning bird, the lad let forth a wild grin and chased after it into the forest. The wind carried the bird straight to the edge of Friendship Grove, where the magnificent Thiafeleda stood. But now, something was different.

There, right where he had lovingly placed his hand on its trunk and hummed the heartsong that grew life inside each tree of the entire grove… a strong limb now burst from the cracked coating of bark and extended an arm of invitation to the young lad. His heart swelled with the joy of a pleasure long-anticipated and a hope so clearly fulfilled in this eternal moment. The wind tousled his hair as he rushed to the welcoming limb and swung himself up into the beloved Thiafeleda. The boy danced his way up through the branches, a living, breathing inhabitant of these mist-covered boughs. He breathed the whisps of memory and swung happily from limb to limb, clinging tightly to each familiar nook in a joint remembrance of the dearly treasured adventures they had shared.

Every week, it seemed, a new limb would sprout from the tree. And every week the lad would climb higher and higher into its crown of leaves. But these playful delights they enjoyed together were cut short by an early winter. The snow blew in, a chilling blanket that shrouded the world and lulled the garden into slumber. The boy had survived enough winters in this grove to know that this season would not bring death to his beloved tree, but then as well, neither would it bring life and growth. And so the lad carried on, looking to the sun for light and warmth in the midst of long and patient waiting for spring to return to this place.

Throughout the winter, the lad avoided climbing the tree, worried that the prolonged, deep cold had made its limbs stiff and easily broken if he were to attempt another excursion up into its branches. Then one day a few months later, the sun cast warm showers of waking light onto his garden, and the winter wind melted into a warm breeze that tugged at his collar and seemingly begged him to go climb the tree again. Surrendering caution to the breeze, the lad raced along the well-worn trails through Friendship Grove to the dear Thiafeleda. With a fond reverence, the boy ascended its branches once more, softly humming the heartsong that had brought such life and joy to them both. After revisiting each place of life, love, and laughter, he dropped to the frozen earth and returned home. Despite the frigid nature surrounding him, the heart within was warmed by the flickering flames of a deeper hope. The next day, the lad was astonished to discover that a new branch had formed! As he gratefully and excitedly ascended once more through the beloved boughs, he began to wonder. Was this perhaps the coming of spring? Would the branches soon begin blossoming with flowers and seeds?

~~~

But the following week brought another flurry of snow, and winter persisted for another two long months. The lad, still hopeful and expectant of spring, began preparing the empty clearing for the much-anticipated seed. As he charted out the boundaries of this new addition (comparing them with those of other flourishing gardens near his home), he also began envisioning the day he would test the strength and quality of the wood, climb out onto a limb, and pluck a Thiaflower for the clearing. In the meantime, he tilled the soil and planted fresh grass and bright flowers. He even drew water from several wells of wisdom to saturate the soil and ensure that each aspect of the area was properly arranged. At long last, the preparations were finished, and spring was finally at hand.

The birds returned from their long days away and offered joyful serenades for the happy occasion. For the first time in years, bright beams of spring sunlight burned away the swirling mists and lit up the tree in its true colors. Each delightful detail of that day played out perfectly like a flawlessly conducted orchestra piece, reprising the solemn flow of winter with a lavish display of spring’s new life.

The lad was truly enthralled with the brilliant glory of this day and the unexpected twists of this tree he knew so well, yet whose true nature and growth had been obscured by the shifting mists of time. The glorious Thiafeleda was as incredible as he had imagined, and its leaves seemed to laugh kindly as he approached. Hardly daring to believe that the moment had finally come, the boy climbed up onto one of the branches, trembling with wonder. The vibrant wood was of the finest grain, seeping with vivacious sap. The limb itself was steady and sure, stretching into the golden sunlight and carrying a breathtaking blossom. All was ready, and the lad stepped his way out on the limb towards the Thiaflower.

After the last three steps, he reached the bloom. Without hesitating long enough to let the precariousness of his position influence his decision, the young lad reached out to pluck the blossom. For a moment, time itself held its breath to see how the story would end. Would the branch snap under the pressure? Would the lad topple to the ground in his joyous trembling?

The quivering hand gradually approached the Thiaflower, and… the branch didn’t break. The lad didn’t topple. In the mercy of that moment, he successfully claimed his prize, clasping it tightly to his bosom. And as he rested there on the dangerous ledge of the branch, the boy found peace. His blossoming heart glowed from having rightly appreciated a truly good thing, and the tree also shimmered brightly, having also achieved its purpose of spreading forth blessing and beauty wherever its seeds had been planted. Thus, the story should end happily ever after… right?

Indeed, dear reader, but remember now the deeper hope and curiosity of the young lad in the story. Though incredibly gladdened at heart and thoroughly satisfied with how things had progressed, the boy swung down from the tree still holding his treasure. Rhythmic footfalls padded their way back through forest and beat in time with the steady pulsing of a heart that now held onto hope as firmly as the hands which carefully guarded the precious blossom. Binding himself to a resilient determination, the lad’s purposeful strides carried him along the path until at last they reached their true destination.

As if faithfully awaiting his arrival, the neatly kept clearing lay in sacred serenity, perfectly pristine, with the deep, rich purity of an unwritten page of poetry. The lad seated himself in the center, and brought forth the precious Thiaflower from its resting place, nestled in his bosom. There, he began slowly and gently peeling back each petal, meticulously careful not to damage or mar the beauty held within. Moment by moment, he worked away in the agonizing prelude to that decisive moment of ultimate truth. The breeze playfully tickled his ear, whispering a reminder of its soft presence. Then it calmly whisked its way towards the unfolding bloom and tenderly blew back the last few petals.

In the heart of that clearing, in the open palms of our dear young lad, in the center of that cherished Thiaflower, there lay no seed. In that moment, the wide open, carefully cleared space where the boy knelt in honor of its sanctity now felt just like the pith of this flower. Empty.

Yet even as the depth of this emptiness swelled to fill the boy and his clearing, the wind swiftly carried to him a scent, like an inaudible hum from the blossom, whose sweet fragrance permeated the empty air with a promise of future hope. The boy sighed.

~~~

Though the first spring blossoms had borne no seeds, perhaps the beauty of their blessing would yet bring sweetness and life to that hallowed ground in Friendship Grove. And perhaps the noble Thiafeleda would bloom once more in summer, the season in which seeds fill the air as surely as birdsong fills the morning breeze. Or perhaps the clearing would be carefully tended for many years to come before the young lad found the perfect seed. Perhaps.