The Biography of Eternal—the Tree Who Gave.
The Biography of Eternal—the Tree Who Gave.
1998, November 23
Today is my birthday. The earth feels damp,
and a soft drizzle kisses my skin. I poke out of the soil—a fragile sprout.
Everything is new and far too bright. A jolly cricket hops nearby, whistling cheerfully.
I smile without knowing why.
I don’t know who I am yet. Just a tiny green stick. My arms—leaves, I
suppose—flutter when the wind passes. I am alone, but it doesn't feel lonely.
The air smells of possibilities.
1999, March 14
Spring wakes me up. The frost that once
numbed my sap is gone. I stretch upward, my first tiny branch growing proud. A
butterfly lands on me today. Her wings were the colour of sun and flame. I
think I fell in love for a moment. Is that possible? To fall in love with
something you know you’ll never see again?
1999, September 2
A little girl comes running through the grass
today. She’s barefoot, laughing, chasing dragonflies. Her name is Angel—I hear
her mother call for her. She notices me.
“A baby tree!” she gasps, squatting beside me. She cups my leaves like they’re
something precious.
She calls me Eternal.
2002, July 28
I have grown. My leaves form a little crown,
and my trunk thickens. I’ve seen three full summers now. Angel still visits.
She reads stories aloud to me. She cries when she’s sad. I offer her shade when
she’s tired. No words pass between us, but we speak in silence.
She brings her friends now. They play hide and seek behind me, their laughter
like music rustling through my leaves. I sway in rhythm.
2005, January 11
Frost. Cold. Silence.
Birds are gone. The village seems asleep. But Angel comes—wrapped in scarves,
her nose red. She leans against me and says, “One day, I’ll go far away. But
I’ll never forget you, Eternal.”
I whisper with my branches: I’ll wait.
2009, August 19
My arms are strong now—two children can’t
reach around me. Squirrels live in my trunk. A pair of bulbuls nest in my
branches. Bees buzz among my blossoms. I am not just a tree—I’m a home.
A boy kisses Angel under my shade. I feel something strange—like the ache of
losing something you never owned.
2011, June 5 – World Environment Day
Students come with banners and slogans. One
boy hugs me, thanking me for “saving the air.” I chuckle inside. I don’t want
praise. Just love.
That night, Angel comes alone. She places a small wooden sign by my roots:
“This tree is Eternal.”
I’ve never been more alive.
2014, March 30
Storms. A mighty one tears through the sky. I
lose a branch today. It hurts, but I stay rooted. A hawk’s nest crashes. I
cradle the egg that survived in a hollow.
The next morning, children gather around, whispering. One boy plants a sapling
near me. I feel a surge of joy.
2016, October 9
Men come with notebooks and shiny boots. They
measure my girth. They say the land is “ripe for development.” They speak of
resorts and wealth and swimming pools.
Angel is with them.
I shiver, not from wind—but betrayal.
She places her hand on my trunk. “It’s just a tree,” she whispers to the man
beside her.
Just a tree.
2017, February 14
They bring machines.
The birds flee. The bees vanish. The cricket—my oldest friend—hops away, not
looking back.
The chainsaw sings a terrible song. I feel pain in every ring of my being.
As I fall, I remember Angel’s words, “You’re my best friend.”
Were they ever true?
I hit the earth. Not with anger. But with sorrow.
2017, March 2
I am no longer standing. But I am not gone.
My wood becomes desks for an orphanage school. My heartwood frames the door to
a library. My bark nourishes the soil where new trees now grow.
The stump that remains is carved into a bench. Villagers sit on it to rest, to
dream, to weep.
Angel returns. Eyes swollen, heart heavy. She speaks to the stump:
“I thought I needed success. But I lost my roots.”
She places a notebook on the stump. In it are my stories—the ones she used to
record when she sat with me, listening in childhood.
She adds the final pages. My death. My giving. My love.
2020, August 5
Children gather at the bench. A teacher reads
from the notebook.
“The Biography of Eternal—the Tree Who Gave.”
They listen, wide-eyed. Some cry. Some smile.
The teacher ends with a question:
“What can you give to the world, no matter how small you feel?”
A breeze stirs. My leaves are gone, but the wind still carries my voice.
2025, January 1
A sapling stands where I once stood. Angel’s
daughter waters it.
They call the new tree Hope.
Such an amazing thoughtful story with an excellent style of writing.
ReplyDeleteWooowww!!!! Sooooo wholesome
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