Birgitta the Nun

Part 17 - A Pine and a Fir I

The road was straight, dusty and deserted, still showing no trails or clues of Birgitta. The abbess had never felt any desire for the great outdoors, and this was certainly not Nature making propaganda. She would have thought hiking an exciting event, maybe even dramatic, but not like this - boring on the verge of being predictable. Sure, she wouldn't have predicted the guard dog, no—but that was one quick business. Now, the hike before her was nothing but a strain on the legs, not uplifting in anyway, like she had been told by some overly frisky visitors of the monastery—it was a seemingly endless walking, a tedious treading, and not even meditation would ease her weary spirit.

When evening again came upon the abbess she felt she had reached nowhere. And really, there was no way for her to tell. She had passed no villages, observed no road-signs of any kind, and no travelers had joined her on the road. She was all alone with nothingness.

In truth, she hadn't walked very far at all. She hadn't even left the first district. If it weren't for a small forest growing on the righthand side of the road, rising behind her as the road curved around it, she would still be able to see the top of the monastery. But she was not the one to know. Her legs were tired alright and that was a marker of effort enough. Had she been asked, she would have guessed she were in another country by now.

Another night under the stars didn't appeal to the abbess but she could see no alternatives. There was no barn in sight, no stray shelter to take advantage of, and again she was left to her own devices. A small grove, visible from the road, looked appealing enough and she went to inspect it. The random shrubbery and the designless trees didn't seem like too private a property, and she pulled her bag into the terrain. This would be fine. There was no fence blocking her way to escape, and she could see no house close by.

She put her pillow between the trunks of two very old conifers, and enjoyed their heavy branches as a roof. Like two giant umbrellas, they spread their evergreen branches above her camp, as put her head on her pillow and closed her eyes. There was a soft wind, making her roof sway slightly, but not enough to disturb her.

But before falling asleep - before relaxing that last muscle of consciousness - the abbess noticed she wasn't alone. She opened her eyes but could see no one. She could detect no movement. Yet—there was life. Above her head the careful wind had subsided, and the conifers were swaying no more. Yet—there was something stirring. The abbess had company. It was a presence directed not towards her - not towards her own esteemed person - but something happening around her. She happened to have put her pillow in the middle of some gathering, some nightly business, to become its involuntary witness. But what was there to witness? She could see nothing. The stillness was making her uncomfortable and she moved about on her pillow.

Finally a murmur reached her ears. The sound was terrible, like something really, really old clearing its throat. Still, it was better than silence. The abbess pricked her ears. For some reason she felt not afraid. The activity gave no clear direction, and she lay still so as not to interfere. Then, there was a squeak, and then another. It came from just above her head, from the two tree-trunks surrounding her pillow. They continued to squeak, and in some wooden-way they seemed to be moving, or at least turning in their places, and the abbess prayed to God they wouldn't step on her face. After some intense moments the squeaking and the moving stopped, and again the throat-clearing began. But then it seemed the throat was clear - clear enough for a voice to emerge:

"So—what do you think about the situation in Europe?" the pine tree said, just above the abbess' head. "It's war and all you know."

"How am I supposed to know, I'm a tree!" the fir replied, standing next to the pine.

"Well-well, isn't that neat," the abbess thought, "I've ended up in a fable." But really she didn't believe her ears. She was sure she was already asleep and having wicked little dreams. The buzz coming from the two trees above her head made no sense to a human ear.

"I'm just trying to make conversation," the pine continued. "We've been standing here for a hundred years now, you know—and you kind of run out of things to talk about."

"How about just being silent?" the fir replied.

Silence fell and no political conversation was born between the two wooden centenarians. The abbess pinched herself to make sure she was awake, and sure enough she was, her thumb and index-finger leaving a nasty mark on her arm. She wasn't sure why she was surprised - she was chasing a talking cat after all - but still, the thought of something talking without having a mouth—it was very disturbing. Or maybe she was wrong? Maybe both of them had mouths, with bark-lips and all? The abbess had to find out. Her curiosity grew as she tried to get a glimpse of what was happening up there, in the treetops above her camp, but her view was blocked. She would have to move, to get up, but she didn't dare to. Not yet.