The imperfect tree

There was once a sapling that grew in a field. It grew stronger and bigger each springtime and summer, and each autumn and winter it rested and prepared to grow again. After many years, one late summer's day the sapling looked at itself and realised it had become a tree - it had reached maturity. Although it had many years of growth ahead, it was no longer a sapling, no longer a youngster. With this maturity for the first time the tree looked at itself. It looked at its leaves, its branches, its trunk and its bark. At first it gazed in amazement at all it was. 'How bright and fresh my leaves look' it said to itself, 'how strong and sturdy my trunk is', it remarked, 'how wide my canopy is,' it said with a smile. But then the tree noticed something - 'goodness,' it said 'my bark is broken in that patch'. It stared at the imperfect bark which was torn and flaky. 'Oh dear,' it said 'there is a hole in that branch!' And indeed there was - a small round hole in one of the tree's sturdiest branches. 'Oh no,' it said in horror 'look at that branch there!' The tree had noticed a branch which was all twisted and bent out of shape. Instead of reaching upwards to the sky it bent low and almost touched the ground. As the tree stared at these imperfections great tears fell from its eyes 'my bark is too rough, I have a hole in my one of my best branches and I have an eyesore of a branch. I am all ruined!'

The tree, in despair at itself, invited the wind to come and blow strongly. 'Blow me away,' it said, 'blow me down'. But the wind would not. The wind was wise and saw the tree's anguish. Instead of blowing the tree down she sang a soft song and called out to some of the tree's unseen friends. 'Come,' she whispered, 'come, come, come'.

The first to arrived was a black beetle called Boris. Boris crawled laboriously up to the tree's sad eyes, unfolded his wing case, and dried the great tears with its tissue-soft wings. 'Thank you,' said Boris. 'Your bark has sheltered me and my family for many years. You have protected us from frost and birds. That is why your bark is rough - we have made our home beneath it.' Boris scurried quickly down under the bark as the next friend arrived.

A Blue-tit called Beatrice brought fresh mint leaves in her beak as she landed lightly on the tree's trunk. She freshened his tear-stained eyes with the leaves and then said 'thank you! You have provided me and my lover with a safe place to rear many broods of chicks. The hole in your sturdiest branch is the cosiest and safest nesting place in all the world!'

'There is one more,' the wind whispered to the tree. Presently a young boy no more than 8 years old ran up to the tree from across the field. He clambered onto the low knarled branch and the wind swung him gently forward and back. He smiled and laughed out loud. He shrieked with excitement as the wind blew stronger and the leaves rustled around him. The tree smiled down at the boy and bounced his branch a little to add to the fun.

The tree realised that what he had thought were failings, were blessing to his friends - Boris the beetle, Beatrice the Blue-tit and the little boy. The wind whispered 'yes - your bark is rough, yes - there is a hole in your sturdiest branch, and yes - one of your branches is low and twisted. Would you be any other way?' The tree shook his head and his canopy swayed - 'no - I am perfectly imperfect!'

Happy 2013 xxx