Beneath the mountains and above the river, surrounded by wilderness and beauty, grew two grand and majestic trees.
"You see?" Beech said, "yes, up there, and to the left," Elm looked to the way Beech gestured with his long branch. "Why, I do believe it's a raven. What do you think Ravens do for a good time? I fear they can do a great deal more than us. Perhaps they take tea with the mocking bird or plan grand schemes with the cowbird. Do you think they enjoy a good rain, as we do?" Beech's voice sang joyfully, but Elm paid little heed, for he felt a little inkling inside his heartwood. A scratching against his bark. What could it be?
"-Do you not think so, Elm?"
"Oh yes, I very much think they enjoy a rain, who could not?" Said the good Elm.
"And look there," Beech creaked with a song in his tone, "do you see it? There! One of the men! Coming up over the hill. I always wonder how men can walk so. Do they pull their roots from the earth and stride across the land? Could we? If we so wished?" Beech sighed, the wind ruffling his bare branches in the upper reaches of his limbs. "Do you think the man will like my branches, even though they have no leaf? I fear I should have grown them longer."
"They are fine, good Beech," Elm creaked, the little pain scratched at his lovely covers of smooth bark. "For if he liked them too much, I worry that he would tear you away from here and set you up in grand halls." Elm sighed a deep sigh, from the ends of his roots. The sigh blew across the land, gathering an armful of rosy leaves, twirling and spiraling in a great and glorious dance.
"I feel I would like to see grand halls, and be displayed in grandeur."
"But, my friend," Elm cried, "would you not miss this sight? The hills reaching ever into the distance, until they meet with the mountains and mesh into one poetic display of beauty far grander than any hall. Or the river, spiraling before us in ripples of blue, the fish which frolic in the waves, and the changing of seasons, perfect in every way to our old eyes. I for one would miss the feeling of sun in the boughs of my leaves and on my aged bark." Elm's heart leapt at the greatness of the land. But the digging was ever present, down near where his roots became one one.
"Look," Beech cried, "the man draws near! I see his dark hair and pale face, so unlike our dark and sturdy wood, and bright, cheery leaves. And what rests on his shoulder, do you see?"
"I do see, I fear that it is one of those things which men carry to harm those around them. Be wary, for if he comes this way, he may remove you to your glorious halls in the end." Elm's cry silenced poor Beech. Over the hills, the man came, until he stood at rest beneath Elm's overarching boughs.
"Why does he stand there so? Glancing this way and that, staring up into your branches?" A soft breeze eddied over the roll of the hills, rustling Beech's limbs.
"I feel he is making a decision," Always the niggling pain dug deeper into Elm, another joined it, starting from the midst of his bark.
"Whatever could take so long? He still stands, holding that destructive tool. What is he to do with it, good Elm? Will he remove you, I should so hate to see you go."
"Finally! He breaks his vigil! But now I see him circle you, it worries me all over again. I fear for you dear Elm, is there nothing you can do! Look! He means to swing his tool against you, Elm! My friend he wants to hurt you!"
"Now why does he peer at you in such a way? It makes me worry deeply inside,” Beech cried with a torn resonance in his words. "why does he frown so? Perhaps he will not take you!"
"And now he returns back over the hills, and I am so very glad to see him go! I do not like these men who aim to hurt us! But I do wonder what changed his mind."
"Beech my friend," Elm laughed, his bare branches rattling in his upper reaches, "you needn't fear for me. I am sure it was nothing of great import which turned him away." But even so the pain deepened inside Elm, from his very own heartwood an aching emanated.
"Why look, friend Elm! Do you see the wonderful snow as it falls in flurries? See how it lays like a blanket over the slopes of our beloved mountains and hills? And look! I see a cherry red Cardinal on my highest branch. What a glorious time is this." Beech sang out into the cold winds and snappy air. Elm laughed with the wind as it clapped his branches against one another in the beautiful rhythm of a breeze. All the while feeling the pain wrought by the score of churning, piercing affliction tracing all up and down his majestic trunk. His deep heartwood ached as a biting anguish pricked his inner core.
"I feel this my most favorite of the seasons, to see the red berries and birds so stark against the white, to have branches and limbs so free and light, and breezes rolling off the hills." Elm undulated in the snappy winds, relishing in falling flakes.
"As do I, good Elm," Beech sang, fluffs of snow landing amid his limbs. "See how golden the sun looks as it sets, Elm! It now appears to devour the land, cloaking it in a blanket of light." All across the mountains, flat scapes, and rolling hills, Beech's voice echoed. Night settled over the land and the world was silent.
"Look," Beech creaked joyously, "you see, the flowers bursting from the ground? This time brings so many wondrous things. I enjoy the warm winds which shove the freezing cold to lands far away. Seeing the animals frolic, new kits of a fox, or field mice, scampering across the flat lands. New buds bursting from my branchlets and the perfume they fill the air with." The sweeping branches in the tops of Beech's limbs trembled with the coming of spring breezes. "Do you think I will be ornamented with swallows nests amidst my branches? Perhaps an owl will roost between the forks of my limbs. I would very much like to watch the owlets grow." His sweet voice carried across the hills.
"I do believe I see a small wren beginning the form of her nest in you uppermost branch, good Beech, you must remember not to sway your limbs too excessively. You might tumble the delicate home into the winds."
"I will remember and be still! I do so hope I am a good home for this wren!"
"I am sure you shall do very well indeed," Elm, hiding the pain so evident throughout his entire self, spoke the words with the kindest tone. The anguish and digging was forever unceasing. Now Elm's wonderful coat and bark began to fall slowly to the blooming, green land where his heartwood met his roots. The land spoke to Elm in a sweet voice, trying in vain to mend his broken heart.
"Why does your bark drift so, falling to the new ground? You lean so, I worry for you, dear Elm."
"Why should you worry? Never fear. For I am changing as the seasons."
"But if you should leave, I would be so very lonely. For we are like the great orators of ages past. If you were departed, I would have no one to converse with, or comment on the lovely picture before us. How shall I pass the days? As they change into seasons and years?"
"But you will have an abundance of those to talk to! Why, the birds that roost in your limbs, the mice which burrow beneath you and amidst your roots, perhaps that raven who sat upon the hill so long ago will become your companion. And I am not leaving soon, my dearest Beech." The earth seemed to sigh with Elm, but deep down his heartwood was so very taxed.
"Why do you creak and groan, dear Elm?" A soft rain fell, undulating in the wind that accompanied it. "The heat wraps around us, yet I see few leaf in your branches. And those that remain are not full and green."
"I am so very tired, Beech. And the pain is wormed through every part of me. My heartwood is solid no more." Wind rolled off the mountains, joining in the song of the rain, reaching it to a crescendo. The thunder broke among the clouds, lighting it in a majestic display across the great scape.
"I am glad the man chose not to remove you, or I, to grand halls. I would miss our place here, amidst the hills and mountains, with the river before and the fields behind. All flowing with the fresh rain, the river extending its banks to near our roots. And us with enough water to last an eternity." Beech sang, his voice joining in with the wind and rain. Elm felt a crevasse near his roots widen and split deeper, breaking past his outer shell and exposing what remained of his heartwood. The worming pain tunneled down to his roots, eating away at the tendrils of life.
"Look! Do you see?" Beech's voice rang out through the thunder and wind and rain. "High in that tree to my left. The swallows hunker down against the great storm."
"Do you see the sun break through the clouds, dearest Elm?" Beech sung, "see how it shines upon us in shafts of sparkling light?"
"I feel so very warm because of it, Beech. And I always love the aftermath of such a powerful wind and rain. The smell of the soil, soaked and soft, and sweet animals that explore for the uncovered prizes that were once buried deep." Elm reveled deeply, as the storm settled. And for once his anguish receded. All was quiet, even the slow drizzle which comes after a storm was ceased.
"Why do you think the sky is so blue after a rain? And why does a rainbow follow such stormy weather?"
"I presume the sky is singing, and the rainbows are the chorus." All came slow to Elm, an ache resounded through his branches and roots. The crack in his bark widened, becoming another, and another.
"Look Elm! Up on the hill!" Beech cried out, "do you see? On top of the hill! It is the same raven, I do believe. I can see his dark feathers-" Beech’s voice faltered, a great crash sounded out throughout all the land. Beech wailed with the sound of a thousand keening winds. Elm lay upon the ground, his roots ripped from the earth, his bark and what remained of his heartwood broken and scattered. The great and strong limbs were bent and crushed beneath his immense weight. All was silent across the mountains and hills, flat lands and rivers. Beech's heart was torn in two, his lament and howl carried across the mountainscape. "Why must you leave, my friend!" Beech wept, "did you not say you would remain for seasons and ages to come? Am I now to spend my days with the creatures of the land? And not with my nearest friend?"
"Do not fret, Beech," Elm's shell seemed to whisper, emanating out from the small pieces of his heartwood. "I will remain here in your sight, for years to come, you can always remember me.”
"But I would so rather you here to speak to me and ponder the lands with me!" Beech cried out, searching for a spoken whisper from Elm. But no response came, all was silence.
"Do you see it? Near the peaks of the mountain? Yes, it is a hawk, circling his prey, he watches from on high!" Beech sang to the raven who to roosted in his high branches. “Do you also see the swirling flurries of rose-golden leaves? Fallen from my highest branches. Set to soar on the winds?” Raven listened attentively, but was unable to provide a response. “And see the great tree which rests beside me? See it's magnificent coat? And limbs that once were strong. It was the greatest elm in all the land.”
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