A Tree’s Thank You
I am Willow. I have stood in this yard for a hundred years. I can feel the world shifting toward less love and caring, and it saddens me. I wish the world had more of the girl I once knew. I am talking to you because I cannot talk to anyone else. No one hears me except the wind, and now you. I can feel everything. I listen to everything. I simply cannot answer in a voice the girl would ever hear. So I will tell you what I hold.
The afternoon Lila’s grandmother died, the family that raised her took her to the beach. The tide was low. Lila sat in the sand a little apart from them. Something large rose under the water, slow and wide, white underneath. A manta ray circled her once, close enough that she could have reached its wing, then stayed farther out turning in long arcs as if it were waiting for her. She watched it the way someone watches a person they already miss. When the family called her name she stood. They brought her home. She walked under my lowest branches with red eyes and stopped. She looked up into my leaves as if she were still seeing the ray. I felt how much she wanted something to stay. Then they told her to come inside and she went.
After that she started coming outside to me. She was the special one. Every time she came by she made a cute picnic with her dolls. She spread the blanket right against my trunk, set out the tiny plates, and spoke to me the whole time. She wished me well. We had a vibration and a connection so strong that even now I can still feel it in the wood. She would reach up and shake my branches until the leaves danced around her, and we laughed. Whatever laughing means between a girl and a tree that cannot speak back. She said, “People say I’m stupid because I talk to trees, but I am fine with that. I don’t care about history. I care about everyone around me. Including you, beautiful tree.” Then she hugged me hard and said, “Bless you, my sweet tree.” She told me she would never forget. I believed her.
She helped water me when I was younger in this yard. On ordinary days she carried the water out herself and poured it slowly around my roots so I could feel every bit of it. She cared for me. A lot of the people around me didn’t always stop to appreciate the tree, but she did. They treated me like I was just a tree. They didn’t always seem to care, but she did. I still knew she cared about me, because she was such a caring person who wanted to spread love, and she knew I wanted to feel special. I felt so bad for her every day because the people around her didn’t always seem to appreciate her or the life they had. I cherished her. I wished her well every time she sat there. She knew how to communicate because she was special. She cared in a way the others did not. What I would give to see my friend one last time. She never returned to me the way she once did. I have been standing here for fifty years since the last picnic. I saw many families come in and out, but I still miss my special friend who understood me, who got me, who said hi to me like I was someone worth greeting.
Some days I wish I didn’t meet her because it has been sad not being able to see her. Other days I remember the dolls on the blanket, the way she shook my branches, the hug, the words she said she would never forget, and I know I loved her so much.
There were so many storms. People cut my branches. Holes burned through a lot of my leaves. They said I took my life for granted, but they don’t know me. They cut down trees. How many strong trees did they raise or grow? None. So what if they gave me the yard and watered me a little? They hurt my feelings by calling me just a tree. They acted like they were better because they gave birth to a beautiful girl. Yes they did. So what? That was luck. I outlived that family. Later families came. Some did not water the lawn for a while. I waited. Then someone new started watering again and kept me standing. Most people cut the tree. They do not see the beauty.
I was proud to be a tree even though I had to take everything and never talk back. That must have been something like what she felt in that house. I hope she went on. I know she did. She was such a smart young girl with a head on her shoulders, bright and caring. A lot of years have passed. I can’t remember what she looked like or sounded like or felt like anymore. I would have kept more if my branches had not been cut. Even the one who helped look after things around here. I felt bad. For all of it, she was there until she got busy and her health went. She couldn’t thrive. She got by. She let her health slip and barely walked or talked near the end. But before that, in the ordinary times, she watered me and made me see how much she cared. That left a mark deeper than anything else. If it weren’t for her I might have just let my roots die.
I loved feeling the wind on my leaves. I still do. I never wanted to go anywhere else. I know I will not stand forever. My strength has lasted as long as it could. If I had lived longer I would have told every other tree about her. The picnics, the dolls, the way she laughed when the leaves moved, the hug, the promise that she would never forget. If I die and come back as a bird, I probably will not remember the yard or her name or how any of it happened. But I will know someone once helped me. I will hover close to whatever feels familiar and try to vibrate with it, to offer what praise I can. I will keep going, hoping the memory is clearer next time so I can meet her again. Maybe I will get to be her parent and spoil her and raise her the way she deserved.
Is it true you need the hard parts to know the good ones? Because she was there, watering me, talking to me, shaking my branches, and then she wasn’t, and the missing has been long. Whoever is listening—thank you for the ones who cared in ordinary times. I miss my special friend. Tell her, if you can, that the tree never forgot the girl who made picnics with her dolls, who spoke to me and wished me well, who hugged me and called me her sweet tree after they brought her home from the beach. I loved her. I wish her well. I am still holding all of it.
She could never hear me say any of this. You can.