Kestrel's Nest

Tree Story

When I feel I am lost and lonely and in despair I remember a story. Once upon a time (all the best stories start that way!) a long, long time ago, well, a bit more than last week anyway, a small piece of what looked like wood fell off a tree. Only about an inch long and egg-shaped. It was winter and it sat there on the hard cold ground and nothing happened. So it got a bit warmer and it rained and the ground got softer and a passing animal or man stepped on it and pushed it deep into the mud. And nothing happened. Months passed and spring came and something did happen. A tiny shoot appeared because the piece was a seed and sometimes when seeds fall they develop and grow into plants. Sometimes they don't of course but then that's the way of life. That's why there's so many seeds and so few plants grow from them. But this one, this one grew. In the first year only a few inches. It got bashed and it got beaten, it got chewed and it got broken but it survived. And the next year it was a little bigger. And the next. And the next. Despite all the attacks on it from man, from animals and from the weather. Years more passed. And soon it was big enough for birds to nest in it and squirrels to play games round it. And it began to learn. It listened to the wind and to the earth and to the sun and the moon, and to the birds and the animals and the spirits around it. And slowly it got wiser. And slowly it got bigger. Many years passed and it was big as any tree in the forest. Deer came under it for shelter, badgers and foxes found space under its roots and the birds and the squirrels found homes in its branches. And wise men sought the wisdom of this tree that had lived so long and been so many things to so many creatures. And one day men came who were not so wise and they chopped down the tree and there was sadness in the forest. But even then something came of it. From it's wood came boats and furniture, window frames and carvings and warmth from the burning waste. From its seeds more trees grew, slowly, braving the sun and rain and gaining their own wisdom as they grew. And from the stump plants grew and foxes still burrowed for dens and strange fungi made weird shapes in its rotting core. But its spirit still haunted the forest and still guided the younger plants and the wiser men who understood. That is the way of the world. The wheel turns and begins again.

For those who can see will see and be heard and be remembered.

Blessings of the wild wood and the wild wind,
Kestrel /|\

© Angela Grant (Kestrel) 6/4/2004