The Way Of The Willow by Steffan Gilbert

Once upon a time, before you or I or even our oldest friends were born, this land, this
very spot where we are now sitting warm and cozy, was a wild and fierce place. Then it
changed.
Some say the change came through a mystic from the eastern seas, while others claim this
organic alchemy was caused by a priestess from the rough dolmens to the northwest, who
saw how much this place needed calm and so planted an oak.
Now; how much can an oak do, you say? I will say that this was no ordinary seedling, but one
which had seen the first dawn, so long ago. Truly, the oak did slow so slightly that frenetic
pace of that place and age.
The oak, though, was not alone in that tempest. Close by was a willow, ever so ancient, who
decided to help the seedling, for that was the willow's way.
So the two of them, oak seedling and bending willow, watched time weave her quilt upon the
land.
From the rocks, brooks, and then minute forests of lichen crept slowly forward, uncertain at
first, though after a while bubbling with relaxed certainty. The rock gave way to soil. Through
gales of rain and sheets of ice the trees stood, taking it all in concert.
At last, the sun shone through the murky gray. It was a remarkable sight. Everything from
one horizon to the next was green and flourishing. This was a happy time for the trees,
stretching their limbs and branches as far as they could reach, shaking their leaves and
laughing for the sun. Moreover, the oak grew, until finally its roots intertwined with those of
the willows. Ah, they frolicked. Yes - trees can frolic quite merrily without a twig of help from
us, thank you very much; and they shared sights and sounds that only have meaning to trees,
and some that only make sense to the wisest ones.

For us, time is a road from one side to the other. For trees, time rises to the skies. When the
oak felt very far above the ground, the willow began to change for the worse. Its branches no
longer grew as many new leaves with the season's change, and its boughs grew heavier with
each passing storm. One morning, as the oak stretched and shook good morning to the
season, it became as clear as crystal what was occurring.
The willow was preparing to elapse, to imbue yet another form with everything the oak had
come to count on, sight, spirit, and soul. This trembled the oak down to the roots.
The willow stirred, and, sensing the concern of the oak, whispered through its branches;
“Soon, someday soon,” The willow's branches rustled ever so slightly, “I will wind my way
through the loam and on to new suns and breezes, and you will not follow me for quite a long
while, though you will remember me by the birds that alight upon your boughs and the winds
that whisper my memories. And one day you will share yourself with the light of all things.”
They waited for the night together. In the morning, as the first lark sang a welcome to the
willow, the oak knew the willow had passed through to new loam.
At first, it was painful every morning for the oak, as the willow stood its ground. Nevertheless,
slowly, slowly, the willow dropped bark and branch, providing for the earth’s many small and
smaller. Many found a home in the decaying trunk. The oak was rather put off by this,
thinking it all together too rude a treatment for such a good friend; though that soon gave way
to happiness that so many were able to make a home. One thing gnawed away at the oak's
heart through all this:
“Is there not a tree with whom I can teach as the willow taught me?”
This thought gnawed at his heart over many seasons, though so subtly as to be hardly noticed
at all. Still, the oak did as well as could be expected to greet each day cheerfully, shaking its
many boughs with sparkle and sweetness.
The oak kept a good spirit and a love of all living things. More time passed, and the nagging
emptiness still tugged at the oak at moments least expected. Through it all, through seasons
bright and dark, the oak waited patiently, spreading it's boughs even further, growing roots
deeper and wider from it's trunk, searching for another.

After much time had passed, the oak was old, much older than the willow was when it had
elapsed, and the oak felt its spirit slip along with the breezes. So the oak tried to hold to its
spirit; at least until there was a seedling nearby to share the passing with. The old lonely
gnawing was working its way out from within the tree.
Finally, it got too much for the old oak to bear. He shook branches angrily, uselessly, at the
wind and sun for not carrying a seedling nearby for company. The oak shook branches at the
ground creatures for not being better companions and at the willow for leaving the oak.
When we are most upset, sometimes we feel our pain sleet hard and cold. Leaves fell and did
not grow back.
Then, one bright, warm day, two birds made their nest in the oak's boughs. At first, the oak
thought of shaking the birds out, being still quite an unhappy tree. When the oak saw,
however, that the birds were nesting to raise young, well, that was different and the oak
thought better of it. It was good that the birds stayed, for they were songbirds, and their
brood brought considerable enjoyment. The mood of the oak changed from despair to joy.
The nesting birds flew with the first snow, thought not before singing the loveliest song they
knew in thanks for the tree's help. Alone again, the old oak diminished.

One fierce night, as stormy a night as had ever been seen, as wild a night as had been the night
the oak was seeded, thunder and lightning roared in a frightening chorus. The oak shook its
branches one last time. The clouds rumbled and a sharp blue bolt of lightning struck the oak
straight down the middle, splitting the trunk and sending branches crashing down in all
directions. The oak passed with wildness sounding through every fiber of its being to a new
self.

The next morning, all the forest was still as one by one, creatures of the ground and air bade
goodbye to the oak. And birds, hundreds and hundreds of birds, took the acorns that had
crowned every branch and spread them far and wide, until there were many oak seedlings
growing as far as the eye could see, eager to provide companionship. And here, in this very
spot, where all around us spreads this grove of oaks, are trees that are many sons and
daughters of that first oak, welcoming us with shade in the summer and kindling in the winter.
For the oak did get its wish in a manner grander than had ever been hoped for, for it is the
oak that is the readiest companion for us all.

© Steffan Gilbert

All Rights Reserved www.millionstories.net

We like this story because:
Oak trees are made for legends that
span great tracts of time. This is a
different kind of creation story.

www.millionstories.net

The One Million Stories
Creative Writing Project

One Million Stories...
One Million Dreams...