It was planted 6 years ago in this exact neighbourhood and has been swaying its leaves by the wind for a few years now. A proud tree it was, it had different friends in the neighbourhood, mainly other trees, which were planted quite a distance away from each other, but that was the thing about trees. It also made friends with the birds. The birds were interesting friends, as they flew early in the morning to finish whatever business they had and would come back later in the day and tell the tree all the interesting stories there were to tell. Then they would leave again in the winter and come back the next season to entertain the tree with even more adventurous stories. They would occasionally quarrel amongst themselves and chirp wildly over inaccuracies in details as they told their migration stories, and the tree found that fascinating in and of itself.
Amongst the tree's many friends, which included underground worms, ants and flowers, were some humans. Now humans were interesting, not quite as interesting as the birds but still interesting nonetheless. The humans were of different shapes and sizes, figuratively speaking, and some of them were so despicable that if the tree didn't know better, it would have been ashamed that the humans were the ones to plant it, while some were so kind and generous and all-around wonder - Oh! here is one.
Her name was Mary, and she was one of the humans. Humans had these things called names- words they assigned for each human that they called each other with. The tree supposed that made sense especially considering the discrepancy in character and personality between them, but then the humans repeated some names amongst themselves so the tree wondered about that…
Now Mary, which again was her name, was older than the tree. She was 14 years old and other humans treated her quite poorly because of her age for a reason the tree couldn't quite comprehend. Maybe the tree itself was too young to understand, but anyway, Mary was older than the tree and she loved the tree very much, just like other different humans did. One thing she loved doing with the tree, which was actually planted a short distance away from her own house, was to sit by its bark and read this thing called a book. It was an object the tree couldn't quite understand, but Mary seemed to love this kind of object, (because it seemed there were many different books) and if Mary, sweet, smiley, energetic old Mary, loved it, then it must be a good thing. Now Mary would sit by the tree's bark as mentioned earlier and read from this book, and just like the birds, she would sometimes tell the tree some stories.
Mary didn't hold a book with her today though. She approached the tree with her hands behind her back.
'Erm, I didn't tell you this before, but my family is going on vacation today.'
Vacation, now the tree heard that word before from the many other humans who would pass by it. The birds told the tree that it was a time when humans would stop working to rejuvenate, like when the birds go to sleep or when the flowers stop blooming, except it was for a longer time and the humans would be awake for most of it. Sometimes the humans would travel in this time.
'I didn't want to stop coming suddenly, so I came here to tell you quick.'
Now that was sweet of her.
'I'll miss you, but please don't worry. I'll be back soon enough!'
There was no need to worry. Other trees and humans and flowers and birds would keep the tree company. It didn't seem any different from the birds' migration. Oh well, Mary will migrate and come back next season! The tree was excited. It meant that Mary would come back and tell the tree even more fascinating stories, and it didn't have to come from a book.
'Ah well,' Mary said and turned around, 'see you in two months!' she called out while running back.
So that was the tree's dear friend Mary.
The tree knew other humans but it hasn't been seeing them in some time. There was Clara, the lady quite older than even Mary. She was usually in a hurry coming back and forth holding a small object by her ear as she hurried about, but sometimes she would sit down on the grass and inscribe the tree's form in a rectangular object she would rest by her lap using a long thin object - the birds told the tree it was called a pencil. The tree didn't understand the purpose, but it loved its form being inscribed and Clara seemed to enjoy it as well, and she looked less frenzied when doing it and smiled more often in those sessions, a warm smile that looked different from many smiles other humans that walked around had, but not unlike the one Mary gave. It was not the same, but of the same kind, like how books were different but it was the same kind of object.
That thing about humans fascinated the tree the most. Still not quite as interesting as the birds but the humans were bizarre.
Rashid was another one of the tree's friends and he had his own friends as well. He'd come here to play with his friends on the grass with a round object. The tree has been observing their game for two years now but it couldn't understand it. Sometimes the round object would enter the space between the two bricks, one of two pairs they'd place in their play area a distance from each other and the boys would be happy. Sometimes it did, and they were not. The difference it made the tree couldn't figure out, but it kept observing to figure it out. Sometimes they'd play different games, more complicated games, like the one where a boy would throw a smaller round object at another boy and the other boy would hit it with a bat.
Now that game baffled the tree.
At the beginning of each game, Rashid would stop by the tree and thank it for giving them space to play and the tree liked that. It was nice for its existence and thoughts to be acknowledged that way. Go on, go and play to your heart's content, and as they finish, Rashid would come back and thank the tree again.
Well, the tree was the one to be grateful, for seeing the boys play, no matter how confusing their games were, was very amusing indeed.
Now the tree hasn't been seeing Rashid and Claire for quite a while now, and it assumed they migrated just like Mary did for the season. Oh, the stories to come! Now Rashid was a busy boy and was occupied in playing with his friends so the tree couldn't expect much travel stories from him but it hoped Claire would pause inscribing the tree's figure, no matter how amusing it was and how beautiful her smile was or how nice it was to see her relaxed and happy, to stop and tell the tree all sorts of stories from her travels.
If the tree wasn't so happy and content and proud for being a tree, it would have wished it could talk to tell Claire that wish, or to thank Rashid for amusing it with their play or to ask him what kinds of games they were playing or to ask Mary what is a book exactly, but it was happy and content and proud, happy and content and proud indeed.
The tree was also young itself. Maybe by the age of 50 it would understand what a book is, or get to hear Claire tell it about herself more, or understand what sorts of games Rashid and his friends were playing, but the tree also had the age of 100 to look forward to and maybe even more!
Regardless, going back, the tree still had more friends amongst the humans, and despicable ones it did not care to think about, but again, it had more friends amongst the humans and some more friends amongst the trees and flowers and ants and Oh! Here come the birds to tell it even more stories for the day!
It was oh so grateful to God for creating it a tree.
Comments (0)
See all