Christmas Tree

The forest ground was cowered with white specks of snow still resisting the weak winters sun. Here and there, a tiny snowdrop or primrose leaf would peep out to announce awakening, a coming change in the sleeping woods, but silence was still reigning in the glade among the naked broadleaf trees. Close to the old oak, embraced by its widely spread roots, a seed of a silver fir lay sleeping. That small brown husk was waiting for the spring warms to shed its long winter dreams and step into life.

For the next few days, the sunshine kept getting stronger and warmer with every day. The activity on the forest ground, the soft hues of spring flowers, the lively birdsong, created a festive and jubilant atmosphere. The babbling of the nearby brook ant the liveliness of other inhabitants of the forest enticed the little plant to sprout and get acquainted with its neighbours. They had already taken up all available space, spreading their petals to get plenty of light and the warmth of the sun, before the trees break into leaf and overshadow the forest ground.

And so one morning the pale green shoot of the little plant wriggled out and pushed its way trough the layers of the last years leaves, delighted with the life surrounding it as far as its eye could reach. Even its beautiful dreams could not be compared to the beauty of that new world. Enchanted by the sunlight, by the gentle touch of the breeze that caressed it while spreading the perfume of fresh spring blossom, the young plant was filled with an irresistible desire for heights, for growth, for a chance to find out more about this new world. Guided by its desire for new horizons, the young plant grew enjoying every new sunny day, soaking up as much as it could of its light and warmth.

The days went by, and the until recently naked branches of the trees surrounding the young fir plant were bursting with new green leaves, turning the oak wood into a luxurious bower. Everything was growing exuberantly, the grass, the ferns, the flowers of all colours of the rainbow, the moss soft as the teddy bear’s fur …….

All sorts of mushrooms in a variety of pastel shades appeared everywhere. Colourful butterflies and insects hovered over them, the bees hummed, the caterpillars crawled and industrious ants marched. It seemed as trough no one slept, day or night. The forest teemed with life, embracing our young Silver Fir, which grew in the shade of the tall old oak.
5And so the spring and the summer went by. And almost suddenly, there was autumn. Our fir tree was no longer a small and fragile plant; it already towered above the grass and the wild flowers. Its horizon widened, but it had to grow even more id order to catch up with the crowns of oak trees, with which it was competing for sunny heights. Leaves started turning id the whole gamut of colours, from yellow to reddish to dark brown, and falling on the ground wove a beautiful carpet, which spread throughout the whole forest, protecting the new seeds from the coming cold. The smell of the autumn rains penetrated each of the naked woods and everything looked dead, completely lifeless. Only our little Fir stood in its greenness, in its rich luxury, which was not just an illusion during the worm seasons but emanated even now, in the greyness and cold, the fresh fragrance of its green needles.

And then one day it started snowing; the snow cowered; the snow cowered the ground and the branches, and the entire nature was lulled into sleep. The Fir enjoyed that new experience of whiteness and peace, thinking of how it was going to evoke this snowy season to his sleepy neighbours once they wake up in spring and cower their branches in leaf and open their fragrant petals. The winter went by slowly as though it would never pass. The Fir began to yearn for company, and was happy to see the first crocuses, which spread all over the glades and opened the gates to spring awakening.

The sun was closer again and warmer every day. Once more, everything was awake in the most luxurious setting. New life brought joy and happiness, as it did every year. But something was not as it should have been. The old oak, which protected the Fir from gusts of wind in stormy nights and offered shade during hot and dry summer days, did not show any tender blossoms, although the crowns of the trees nearby had in the meantime already luxuriated in their resplendent greenness. On the day when people came to the forest which some strange implements, felled the tree and dragged it off somewhere, the little Fir finally realized that it would never again see its friend and protector. The only things remaining of the old oak were just a stump on the forest ground and an empty space in the little Fir’s heart. The days went by and our Fir grew steadily, soon becoming a beautiful, young tree, an adornment to its part of the forest. The oak stump was soon overgrown by grass and became almost invisible, but the Fir did not forget it and kept it in its heart forever.

The seasons changed following its natural rhythm, and the Silver Fir already knew a great deal about the life cycle of the oak wood. Now and then people would come, cut the trees that were old and sick and take them to some unknown destination. It caused both sorrow and fear, but also a certain curiosity. Sorrow and fear would disappear with the arrival of new spring, with green shoots springing up, spreading the joy of life and friendship. Still, the curiosity about the wide-open spaces remained. As the Fir grew, its horizon widened and one day it could make out the roofs of the of the nearby village, which was hiding behind a small hill. The Fir could now see the play of the whitish smoke which danced out of the sooty chimney and hear the chatted of children, interspersed with laughter and shouting.

That year at the beginning of winter, while the snowflakes kept whirling around sticking to the Fir’s needles, the cheerful shouting of children crept nearer until it completely surrounded it. Loud marry squeals and laughter filled the forest disturbing its sleeping dwellers. The Fir was delighted with the children s happiness and enjoyed watching them pelt each other with snowballs. Running around while playing tag they would touch its branches and shake off fresh layers of snow. Because of the vivid colours of their hats and mittens, the Fir suddenly thought that some new season has arrived, resembling spring or summer more than winter.

The children were followed by two men carrying a shovel and axe, and the Fir was terribly frightened when they started walking round it and measuring it. Filled with fear and panic, the Fir was dreading its fate, wondering if perhaps its time, its end has come. How could it be the end? I haven’t reached even half of the height of the young oak, which started growing in the same year. And what about my dreams of the heights? I was supposed to grew tall, outgrow even the tallest forest tree, and see behind all the hills, experience the spaces that I have dreamt so much about. Worried and sad, the Fir begged for help. The nature surrounding it was in deep sleep, and the Fir looked towards heaven, towards the sparking stars, which held the only hope for its prayers. Glittering on the dark blue surface of the infinite, they seemed to have power over all destinies, including its own, and the Fir prayed to them from the bottom of its heart, asking for more time to fulfil its dreams.

The care the man took not to hurt it while digging and cutting the roots of the rotten oak-tree stump in order to free it made the Fir believe that they did not want to cut it, but to transplant it. The fear disappeared but anxiety remained, for was there a place that could be more beautiful than the glade in which it grew up? What place could be better for it than this one, were he lived surrounded by friends? Was there a place that would be better at enticing it to grow and expand its horizons than this oak wood? Doubt mixed which curiosity beset it while watching the man who put it on the sledge, after having dug it out with utmost care.





In the midst of clamour an running around of children, the neighing and steady gallop of horses, the men brought the Fir to the village and, carrying it into the yard, planted it into a huge clay jar and placed it into the house, into a spacious living room. The door to the kitchen was open and the fragrance of freshly baked cookies mingled with the fragrance of the Fir, the fragrance, which evoked the snowy mountain heights surrounding the valley. The children then brought boxes full of multicoloured shiny balls, stars, figurines, and started decorating its branches, turning it into a beautiful Christmas tree, finally crowning it with a golden star with which it almost touched the ceiling.

It was quite a new and unexpected experience for the Fir, which enjoyed the attention and admiration shown by the whole household. That night the house was filled with the sound of beautiful songs. Everybody was singing, the children in their airy, fluttery voices, older men in rough and rasping ones, while the women brought a special quality into the song with their soft and sweet sopranos. The song filled each nook and cranny and each heart. The song echoed from the neighbouring houses and from the streets. It was a real evening of the song, and its joy lasted well into the night, almost till dawn.

And then the holidays ended. Ordinary ones, filled with everyday routine, replaced the day of joy and festivities. Sweet memories remained, memories, which would for a long time to come fill the hearts of those who shared the holiday spirit. The Fir was placed with its new acquaintances and became attached to the nostalgia for the oak wood in which it grew up almost disappeared. True, the room, which was its new home, was somewhat narrow and cramped its growth, and the Fir was slightly worried because its great desire to grow was still as strong as ever. Its need to see and feel the open spaces had lost none of its vigour.

One day, after the first snows began to thaw, the Fir saw some commotion in the yard through the living room window; the members of the family were walking around, discussing something obviously very important. For a moment, the Fir thought it might have something to do whit it, because the men of the house had shovels in their hands, tools it was already quite familiar with. Its guesswork proved correct; they were choosing the best place to transplant it. After several suggestions they decided to plant it in the middle of the yard, where it would have plenty of room for spreading its branches, plenty of space to grew tall, as tall as it had always wanted.

The spring, the Fir got acquainted with the fruit trees surrounding it in the large garden. Exquisite beauty of white cherry blossom, soft pink of the peach, bright red tulips and fragrant lilac highlighted the green colour of the Fir and its wonderful silvery sheen, which gave the tree its name. In autumn, the sweet smell of quince, apples, pears and other fruit competed with the Fit’s fragrance. It grew happy in the new environment, enjoying every moment and every season of the year. Its beauty was the pride of the family and of the whole village, because that was a fir beyond compare. During Christmas season they decorated it with lights, which sparkled like the stars in the night sky.

While it was growing, its horizons kept steadily widening. Soon it was able to see, over the rooftops, the glade in the wood in which had grown up. It made it happy, for it remembered its childhood with pleasure. The view of the woods and their closeness made it feel as though it had never actually been moved.






And so today the Silver Fir grows on and widens its horizons, and it
will go on growing for many, many years to come because firs live a ling time. And if you happen to pass a little village and see a tall and beautiful fir tree, it could just be the Fir from our story. And that tree will be pleased when it finds out that you too want to grew and develop and acquire knowledge to widen your horizons, thus discovering the most unbelievable secrets that now you do not even dream of.

The End

author : Adriana Carevic