Old Trees

The tree started out quite young (as all things are). The seed was planted in fertile soil and the sprout slowly grew in the darkness. The heartbeat and warmth of the earth kept it warm and safe, and it finally burst forth from the ground. The nearby world rejoiced for the successful birth of a New One, and thus the tree's journey began.

In the beginning, it grew very fast. Years passed by, and each year passed faster than the last. The tree spent its days absorbing sunlight and minerals and knowledge from its elders, learning to bend with the wind and stretch higher and higher. As the tree became more sturdy, its branches began to truly spread.

When around ten years had come and gone, things began to change. The grass didn't seem as green. The sky seemed to become cloudier and grayer. The elder trees became less intelligent and more annoying; at least, to the tree. The tree began to snap back at the elder trees when they would begin their lessons. When the weather would change too much, the tree would make it quite known that it was unhappy. The elder trees were at a loss- they had forgotten what it was like to be young and restless. So they sat and waited.

After another decade, the tree's perspective had changed drastically. Unlike its beginning stages, it was no longer laughing. It no longer wondered over insignificant details such as close anthills or round raindrops. Its only objective was to learn what it needed to grow. It wished no longer for the stories and facts of its elders. It shunned them, sometimes chastised them for their slow ways and creaking bark. The tree wanted to grow alone. It wanted to be individual in every way possible, even if it meant shunning the ones who raised it.

This, however, was the tree's only fault. Animals would come to the nestled circle of trees, the elders surrounding the youngest. The animals would not mind the elders, for they were frail and offered nothing; they would instead turn their attentions to the young. The tree saw these, and because of its want for individuality, would attempt to defend itself from the predators. Although the tree knew that it was not yet strong enough to do it alone, in tried in vain. The high-flying birds did whatever they could to make awkward nests in the branches of the tree, mocking the tree's constant shedding of small twigs. The low-crawling beetles and worms bore under the tree, trying to cause its ultimate downfall over the course of years. Beavers would gnaw at the bark constantly, causing the tree much pain. The tree tried its best to endure the obstacles rather than eradicate them.

Eventually, as the tree got older and endured so, so much pain, it became numb. The gnawing, digging, and nesting no longer bothered it as they used to. Instead of focusing on the pain, the tree began to talk to the elders that were left, learning what little they could remember. The elders spoke as well as they could, and every now and then one would just stop talking and sit still, very still, until it no longer moved. The elder trees would mourn for a short while, and return to their numbness. Soon the young (now not-so-young) tree began to grow old, and the elders who had so gently raised it began to die as the others did. The not-so-young tree mourned, and regretted the days that it had for so long shunned its loving parents. After a long while the not-so-young tree realized that it too was an elder. The now-elder straightened itself up as best it could, and looked around at the sprouting children of its brothers and sisters. It knew that it would have to be strong, be strong for its ancestors and for its new family.

So the old man sat his grandchildren around him and beckoned to his wife in the kitchen. The old woman brought a plate of cookies over to the half-circle of three toddlers and walked over to open the blinds, letting in the gentle sunlight. She sat down in the recliner next to the old man in his oak-wood rocker. The old man smiled his denture smile, and began to tell a story; a story of trees.