Read Recreationally

The Spring's Children

-Inspired by The Nightingale and The Rose by Oscar Wilde- 

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In the very centre of the town square stood one, lonely tree. His leaves were browned and brittle, for his heavy, bitter heart had withered them. The town had once been the most magnificent garden, filled with brightly coloured lilies and the beautiful songs that the birds would sing. The Tree had never known loneliness before, as he was constantly surrounded by wonderful, tall trees.

But his leaves began to dry once the townspeople cut down every tree in the forest. They had insisted upon building houses and schools and libraries, and trees really had no place in a bustling city. Every tree that once stood in the forest had been cut down and used for firewood to make room for their new facilities, leaving just one tree behind. The Tree often wondered if the people noticed him at all, or if they had forgotten him completely. His only companions were the mushroom heads that had sprouted from underneath his roots and the Winter. Oh, how he was entirely infatuated with Winter. Once every season, she would come breezing through, much to the delight of the Tree. Every so often, she would blow through his branches, tenderly caressing the leaves and bark. But mostly, she would brush straight past, not to be seen again for another nine months. The rejection would do nothing if not encourage his affections for her.

"I do wish that she would stay much longer," The Tree would tell his mushroom allies in the strictest confidence, to which they would not respond. They had been taught throughout their lives to simply keep their negative comments to themselves, and so they rarely spoke.

After the Winter had left, soon the Spring would take her place. She was nothing like the Winter. She was warm, nurturing and loving, and with her she would bring her wonderful children; the baby birds that she had taken under her maternal wing. To the Tree, they all looked more or less the exact same; pink, fluffy feather with shirt, stubbly little legs. But the Spring always knew which one was which, and she loved them all uniquely. The Tree was not fond of her at all. She reminded him far too much of the other trees that he lost as dear friends. Although, he often found himself feeling envious of the joy that she was able to bring the rest of the town. Nobody enjoyed looking at an ugly, old tree, but everyone in the town loved to come outside and play when the Spring visited.

The Tree thought he could hear the faint sound of whistling.

"Perhaps it's the Winter coming back for a visit!" His heart swelled at the very notion of seeing his love again. Until he realised that it was now springtime. The whistling was from a baby bird, singing a joyful melody for their loving mother who was now in season. The Tree simply sighed, and wished for the Winter to come back. He wanted more than anything to be loved the way that Spring was loved by her children.

The little bird finally looked up at the Tree. The Tree did his best to ignore him. He was not fond of children, and was in no mood to play such juvenile games. The bird was the youngest in his flock, and he was much smaller than all of the other birds. His feathers weren't the same vibrant pink colour, they were much lighter and his wings seemed to disappear on his back they were so small. The Spring could see the way that the little bird was looking up at the Tree, as if to say that he wanted to be perched comfortably between his branches. Many of the other birds in the town feared the old tree, with its withering appearance and its tall, menacing frame, but not him. This little bird knew that the Tree was nothing to be afraid of. However, he was saddened, for he could not fly to the very top of the tree to play. His wings were much too small to fly just yet, and the tree was far too tall to climb.

The Spring breathed a pleasant gust of wind as the bird tried to flap his little wings, and she gently carried him to the very top of the tree where he sat happily, looking out onto the town.