The Great Tree

There was a great tree in a meadow much like any meadow there ever was. This specific tree in this not so specific meadow was so great that flying creatures from miles around traveled great distances to perch in its sturdy branches, feel the breeze rustle through its lush crown of leaves. The wind even seemed to prefer passing through the tree as even in a dead aired afternoon, the tree swayed majestically while its neighbors drooped with the humidity of summer's still air.

Its roots dug deep down, minding the homes of already settled hole dwellers, gracefully churning the soil into nutrient-rich soil which quite casual weed blossoms grew ordinarily beside the great tree's trunk.

There was a quite plain town near the meadow. The working men of the town fished from a predictable port, the women caught crustaceans, boiled them, sold them in restaurants. The people tugged on their fishing lines and crab traps all the while turning their heads up to the tree that appeared the apex of the town, a green trophy mount adorned with colorful birds and fragrant white blossoms. The tree stood up high on a hill in the meadow and watched the ocean churn and deliver its salty, squirming bounty to the lovely townspeople who took great pride in this great tree. The tree was very happy.

Children met to play around its enormous trunk, used its submerged roots as stools for their lunches. They grappled furiously at its knots and dints, scrambling foot upon foot to climb its massive torso, but the closest branch to their outstretched arms hovered much too far above. Yet they respected this fact, respected the mystery of its leaf padded fort looming over their heads. They went home and dreamed of their legs growing taller each night as they slept, waking up each morning, turning to their mirrors and saying "maybe today, maybe today".

The tree dripped bright golden drop of sap down its solid side during the hot months of the year, and the towns people had quite accidentally discovered its healing quality. It was mashed, and melted, stretched and liquefied, fed to sick tummies and saved many children lives. And once a year, the town held a great fair in the meadow. They built a large stage near the great tree to keep the pie eating contenders in the shade. They wrapped colorful ribbon around its trunk and hung glowing paper lanterns from its branches, sang song to its spirit, and talked of how grateful they were for this blessing, to behold this magnificent sight every day, to be in the presence of the great tree's protection. And the tree bustled its leafy veil and straightened up as straight as it could. And sighed great sighs of humble honor and joy.

There are times when a people need a hero, and there are times when then hero must be crucified, made the villain to make amends for troubled times. Shoot the messenger. Kill him dead.

And so, as in every cycle of history's need for repetition, there was a brutal winter that covered the seaside with heavy snow and chilling ice. The tree had survived a long time and had seen many winters pass through the town so he did not mind when the ice broke off some of his brittle twigs, or that it bent some of his sturdiest branches towards the white washed ground below. They had mended themselves before. The great tree believed all things would be set right by the strength of Spring's sun and it's will to make all forsaken life thrive again. But winter extended into the Spring months. It continued to storm and freeze the town over much longer than the tree, or the townspeople had ever witnessed. The people watched their bread boxes empty as their hooks and traps remained empty in the barren port as well. The tree stiffened in the freezing wind and lost many of his once graceful branches to the slicing ice and winds, and the towns people no longer took pleasure in glancing up towards the majestic meadow hill. They only felt sadness in all that they saw. The sun did not shine.

Spring did come, however. Flowers did eventually bloom and trees became more upright with the promise of new life. Yet the great tree stayed slumped. His many amputated branches did not grow back luscious leaves or fragrant flowers. Birds flew past it, confused as to where their favorite nesting tree had gone. They did not recognize him and neither did the towns people. "What has happened?" They asked. "Our great tree is now a mealy skeleton". They felt no pride in the tree as it stood bare on the hill, and they did not feel power or protection through its nubs and splintered limbs.

The people were afraid. The fish had stayed far out at sea and the few crustaceans that crawled into the women's traps were sickly and weeping with bitter salt tears of the freezing ocean floor. So bread boxes remained barren and the town's faith in the great tree dwindled as the last bit of wick is snuffed out by wax.

What could be done? The tree had always seemed to prosper and thrive, lifted the town into a joyful and productive community. And now when they look up towards the meadow, they saw it hunched over in a pathetic crook. They saw it's ugly, dyling limbs a sore to the eye. The tree now seemed a whithering beacon of hope, a bad luck icon. The people said to each other in passing, "It has become such an appaling presence in our town that it seems to chase away the sea creatures instead of calling them into our nets! It drives them further out into the ocean's darkest, most creviced caverns!". They also noticed the essential sap produced inside the trees now flaking bark and ceased to flow, even though the weather had become warmer. Children were dying from winter's untreated illnesses.

The town was dying. It's people saw the tree as a nuisance, making their homes look ragged, forlorn, abandoned. It did not produce sap, it did not please the eye and even though it still seemed to survive inside it's hideous shell no new life appeared on its fragile bones. No amount of sunlight could straighten it out of its slump. The people met in the church yard one hot spring day to discuss what to do.

Summer came soon thereafter. The town had managed, although they cursed the tree for their uncomfortable lives. They prayed for salvation, wished the tree would just die. Maybe then the curse would be lifted and the fish would return. Perhaps a new tree could be idled over in it's place.

The town held a fair the very same day every year. The 3rd Sunday of July came and the people began to carry the materials needed to the tree across the meadow. They had always prepared for the fair in the same way every year. This time the people did not build a stage near the tree yet they carried large armfuls of wood and dropped them at its roots. They did not wrap colorful ribbon around its peeling trunk yet the strung it up tight with old rope and strips of old clothes. They doused the wood in oil and had previously soaked the rope in it. They did not light lanterns from its noble branches yet they struck matches and set fire to the pile of wood. To the tree. A great blaze surrounded the base of the tree immediately and roars of approval rung out from the crowd that had gathered where the pie eaters once scarfed pies, the same roar of approval meeting their ears. At last!, they must have thought. They cheered and applauded and watched the tree burn and char for many hours.

The towns baker first noticed it. He had been quiet, at first standing too close to the blaze. A puff of smoke blasted in through his nostrils and out passed his lips. The smoke was black and crude smelling. He backed slowly away from the fire and stumbled against the ground. Looking up, his head dizzy and numb, he noticed the sky beginning to shift and the sun making wavy patterns in and out of monstrous clouds. He wiped his sweating brow and blamed the heat but a similar hush had rolled over the crowd soon after. A woman near the baker suddenly became hysterical. A young man took off running further into the neighboring woods as if some evil and threatened to catch up with him and torture his soul. Children fell asleep in their trembling mothers arms. They inhaled the trees smoke deep and hard, dreamed of fish 50 feet long. They imagined that they lived inside the fishes cavernous guts, forking pieces of their delicious flesh in between their frenzied, gnashing teeth.

No one could explain this strange epidemic that had infested the town. As long as they lingered in the meadow, breathing in the dark plumes of odd smelling smoke the hallucinations plagued the mines of every boy, girl, man, woman and baker. Wild colors, unreasonable shapes collided in their minds. Some claimed to hear the tree crying and screaming, placing curses on the town for making it die. And the great tree did eventually die that day. It let go of its last burning branch to the ashes below and seeing this, the towns people went home. Some had lost the ability to walk and had fallen asleep in the tall grass. They all slept for a long time and when they awoke still felt a bit foggy as if they were living in a waking dream.

The end