• Published 3rd Oct 2019
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The Only Tree in the Forest - Hap



Old things die to make room for the new. That is the way of the world. But me? I watch the world grow old.

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Chapter 5

I saw my first ponies.

The other trees had talked about them, of course. I’d heard that yonder maple heard from a distant elm who heard it from a yew on the horizon, who…

I wish I’d been prettier when they showed up. I feel silly for feeling that way. When my heartwood was burned, I’d had to grow my trunk thicker, not taller. Stronger, to keep from being blown over. I became twisted and gnarled. The other trees refuse to speak to me, so I squat in the shade and try not to look up at a canopy I have no hope of ever reaching.

The ponies seem so happy. They enjoy the forest with such a wide-eyed wonder that I wanted to impress them. They look in awe at every trunk and branch, but pause to regard me. An ugly curiosity in a picturesque living landscape.

I see three kinds of ponies.

The pegasi, who fly overhead and land on branches, chattering to each other like birds. Their feathery weightlessness belies their power. I heard the other trees talking as they watched the little flying ponies break up a thunderstorm in the east, and bring rain to the dry patch in the north. It would be nice to have them around.

The unicorns perform feats of impossibility. They lift things without touching them, or transform one object into another. But I suppose the sun lifts the morning fog, and trees transform soil into living wood. Perhaps they are as astounded by trees as I am by them.

Then there are the ponies who… connect with us. They are solid. Heavy. Their hooves are roots that sink deep into the earth and reach out. They touch us, and we respond. And when they touch me, they shake their heads and walk away.