The Spring of Life - SP2022

I had laid there for some time, cradled in the darkness; dank and bitter cold, yet comforted and protected by my enclave. I do not recall how I had come to rest there; only a brief twirling flight, alternating flashes of blue sky and earthen colours, until I softly landed on moist soil. I had sunken below the surface and swallowed up by the ground.

One fine day, of many hundreds more to come, the coldness turned to warmth and I felt something beginning to stir within me. I stretched my tenuous limbs and they began to unfurl and reach out. Below, I scavenged towards what I sensed was nourishment; from above, a baptism of dew invited me to scrounge upwards until the blue sky, once again, bathed me with love. I stretched out and beheld my open palms to an adoring sun. Later, I was told that that was the Spring of Life, a time to grow and prosper.

Continuing my growth, the days grew hotter. The refreshing showers from those billowing, cotton-white vapours became less frequent and left me wanting for a sip of nature’s weaping. Although, not all was lost, I stretched further down with my strengthened limbs to underground fountains. For some reason, the nectar I found was even sweeter than that which had bathed me during the spring showers.

After a few months, the sun would begin to retire earlier than usual; the moon would stay out longer and the gentle wind would begin to blow stronger. I could feel the stiffening of my body as an icy film would cling to me before sunrise. I noticed my green palms turn yellow and then a deep fiery red. One by one, they would be taken by the wind and gently strewn at my foot, until the good brown earth was completely dappered in a new red and orange suit. It was a beautiful sight, even if at the expense of my exposed limbs, unadorned and cold.

Winter drew ever nearer and the sun took refuge behind a grey blanket. Nature’s tears turned into tiny, crystalline flecks, which eventually draped over the red abstract ground and clothed my bare limbs. This was the time of the year that I could only sleep and wait for the discontented winter to pass. Even the soil below me was too stiff to dig any further, however, I was not alone.

During my early underground explorations, I had encountered relatives and new friends. We communicated by touch and vibrations. I met my family and elders, some much more ancient than I; and they taught me about our Mother Nature and Her grand miracles – Her nurturing of plants and animals, all living in peace and serenity. However, they also warned of a great threat. The arrival of a dreadful creature, one that would be our downfall.

I could not, would not, believe their prophecies, until one day, they came. At first, they stroked and caressed me lovingly, a little pleasurable tickle and I gave them the sweet nectar I had made from the earth. They would only take what was needed and not a drop more. How could these innocuous beings destroy us, I thought. For hundreds of moons and suns we lived in harmony.

Then, they vanished and in their stead came dreadful and ruthless creatures. They did not venerate and touch gently, but bore holes into my body with whining tools. They pierced me with long tubes and literally tapped me dry of life. I could not reach down far enough to find means to satisfy their ravenous hunger for my sweet amber nectar. The once maligned winter was my only saviour, a moment of respite, a time to heal and replenish.

Year after year, they returned, until I had no more to offer. I had yearned for them to leave me alone, as I was no longer of any use. Unbeknownst to me, yet, just as my elders had foretold, they returned one last time. I remember the thunderous, rapacious sounds of their saws, the thudding blows of their axes, the chewing up of my body, the tearing of my fibres – and it hurt! I began to sway, my limbs being torn from the nurturing earth, my red palms flying away in every which direction until, I could no longer stand proud and tall. I returned to the ground, not softly as at the beginning of time, but with an angry and agonising crash. They then proceeded to reduce my body, sculpted by Mother Nature, into smaller fragments and took me away in pieces.

Today, a modest maple chair, I sit here next to a table that was once my brother. Below me, a wooden floor that had been my sister; to the sides, wood panel walls, that had been my parents; in the rafters above, my brethren. I only hope that one day, those little twirling winged seeds I scattered around for centuries, will one day grow as tall, majestic and proud as my kin and I had been… and mostly, I pray that they will never encounter that gluttonous, insatiable, evil creature – called Man.

In Loving Memory of a A Red Maple Tree

THE END

a reply to: Encia22
Beautiful story!!

a reply to: nugget1

Thank you, I'm glad you liked it.

Thank You (and the Red Maple Tree) for your Story contribution.


Good Luck in the Contest!
Johnny

a reply to: JohnnyAnonymous

Cheers Johnny! The Red Maple Tree thanks you, too... from the bottom of her roots.

a reply to: Encia22

Very nice -- a good read. I am glad that fate smiled upon the Woodly family and brought them all together at last.

a reply to: argentus

Thanks Argentus, much obliged for the nod. I'm happy you liked the ending.

a reply to: Encia22

A tree's life.

Well done, thank you.

Cheers

a reply to: F2d5thCavv2

Thank you, F2d5thCavv2!

Yes, a tree's life that I tried to personify as much as possible. I intentionally avoided using tree terminology to let the reader identify and empathise with growth, discovery, joy, sorrow, and suffering leading to an eventual demise, hinting at an after life.

To the purists, I apologise for a typo in my third paragraph; I meant to write weeping instead of weaping. I noticed too late to edit. I hate it when I miss errors.

I just read this. What a great piece Encis!

What tickles me is that 25 years ago or longer my wife brought home this little sprig of a sapling in a smallpot.
She told me it was Red Maple and the thing could not have been more than five inches tall and she planted to the side of her island of shrubs and flowers in front of our house.
She took such good care of it, even to the point of having me make baskets from 1/4 chicken wire she’d place over it after it hD dropped it’s leaves so it would be protect from being crushed by heavy snow during the Winter and it’s buds were protected from the rabbits, deer and feisty little red squirrels.
As the years passed and her Red Maple grew, so did the protective cover I made and solidly anchored to the ground each Fall.
I so very much wish image uploads worked because I’d love a include a picture of it in this reply to your wonderful story.
Well done! Stars and Flags!!!
It’s alive and well as well as big and beautiful.
Reading your story was like watching it grow to me. It will probably still be out there for many years after the day comes when my family board the whale watch from Provincetown to spread my ashes over Stellwagen Bank off the tip of Cape Cod.


I had 5-6 personal photos I took over the years that I wanted to very much include in my story for the Spring contest about to conclude. They would have truly helped people truly see the story I tried to write.

Again, congrats and Good Luck with the contest!


Cheers…….

da pirate 😎







a reply to: Encia22









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a reply to: PiratesCut

Cheers for your kind input! I hope your maple tree will live long and prosper. It will be a living testimony to you and your wife. I have the feeling part of our psyche/souls (for want of a better description) get imprinted in nature when we our kind to Mother Earth.

Btw, I just finished reading your story and pictures would have been nice, but aren't necessary... Your narration and attention to details helped create the imagery in my mind as I read it.