The Whispering Oak

It was just a dream. That child’s dream.

He had arrived crying silently and sat on the layer of moss covering the dry stone wall, next to the big oak tree. They both had held their breath, pierced by that desperate and lonely cry. Even the little stream had stopped in order to watch and with them, the entire surrounding forest had.

The kid was wearing only a somewhat worn-out t-shirt and a pair of shorts that must have been red in better times. The shoes at his feet were muddy, and his legs were full of scratches, like for someone who had wandered through the forest without caring where he was going.

There, sitting on the wall, he had continued to cry. Now that he had spent all his tears, exhausted, had laid down on the moss, falling asleep. And he was dreaming: a restless dream… At times he would curl up, protecting his head, as if to defend himself, while his pupils moved rapidly under his eyelids. His cheeks were still streaked with dried tears.

The little one hadn’t even noticed, but the wall he was sitting on was truly unique: so isolated there in the middle of the forest. It supported a very small plot of land, possibly a memory from older times. Still, it wasn’t just any wall. It protected the source of a stream: a modest watercourse that gently flowed from the stones of the wall, before venturing into the forest.

Intertwined with its stones were the roots of the tall and proud tree standing next to him. It had witnessed countless seasons and now it towered above the surrounding plants. Like someone who knows a lot: as a good-natured guardian watching over the tranquility of the forest.

The oak leaned in over the little one. Almost as if to protect him with its branches from some unknown danger. As for that natural instinct that drives every intelligent being to protect the youngsters, even though unconsciously, aware that they are the future.

And it began to whisper a sweet lullaby for the child… A sort of song that the wind intoned by blowing through its leaves. The language it spoke was one that nature still remembered, but that humans had long forgotten.

Well, actually a language that not only nature remembered, but which the human cubs did too, when not polluted by the civilization. This is why the child, while sleeping, could also listen to the ancient chant that the oak and the wind were telling and singing. And he dreamed and saw it with his inner eyes…

“I was just a young sapling, when that wall was built by now forgotten hands. I don’t know why they built it right there. Still, it wasn’t long before they left, abandoning everything” started the oak.

“And,” it went on, “a little stream peeked out from among the rocks of the wall. At first, it wasn’t but a simple trickle, still it grew. The animals began to come to drink from its clear waters. I benefited from it too, like the other surrounding plants: thriving along its banks.”

“Even the wall, though silent and immobile, seemed to vibrate with the energy of the water that flowed between its stones. It also became a home to the moss that grew lushly on its stones.” This is how it began its story and the child was seeing the oak, still as a young and flexible sapling. But also the dry stone wall which held back the earth uphill, but let the little stream seep through.

He also heard the birds singing, rejoicing in the beauty of the forest and the crystalline sound of the flowing stream… Sensed the smells of the forest, the soft moss that served him as his pillow and the bed of dry leaves which he laid on. And he felt calmed and reassured.

The wind and the ancient tree went on with their song, while the child was listening and dreaming: “In the forest, everything was vibrant with growth and discovery. I still remember the first time I felt the warmth of the sun caressing my leaves. But also the gentle touch of the wind and the rain. I stretched my roots towards the stream: it was a small one, but it was a vital lifeline for me and the forest.”

“The birds too came to bathe in its waters and they were so cute… Later on, when I was already grown up, after they had bathed, they came to shelter among my branches. And their chirping filled the air with happy melodies that spoke of freedom. Other animals came too to quench their thirst with that clear water and they were so joyful…”

“And there was the wall, built with care and precision: it stood as a testament, a distant memory of human ingenuity. Its stones had been placed with attention: each one fit with the other. Sometimes I thought about who had built it: what was like his life now? What were his dreams and hopes? The wall kept his silence, almost preserving those stories within its stones.”

The child listened. And dreamed as his spirit healed.

“But of course,” the narrators continued, “throughout the year, the forest changes with the seasons. Spring brings new life: flowers blooming and animals waking from winter hibernation. The water in the stream swelled by the melting snow, its waters sparkling from the stones in the sunlight. This before the time when the leaves covered the tree canopies, so over-shading the forest floor.”

“In summer the stream is slower and more musing: it rests from the merriment of spring, becoming a gentle flow. And its crystalline song refreshes the forest from the summer heat, whilst it is the forest that becomes boisterous in that season. A bustling of life.”

“Autumn, on the other hand, repaints everything in golden and red tones, as the trees prepare for winter rest. It is then that the leaves let go, falling to the ground all together to create a soft carpet of colors.”

“When winter arrives, it brings a silent quiet, with snow covering everything. And the animals retreat to their dens, at least those that cannot migrate to warmer lands. Then even the surface of the stream is covered with ice, but beneath it, the water still flows. Even the wall seems to sleep, covered by the white blanket, waiting for the return of spring.”

The two narrators paused. The wind needed to catch its breath and, meanwhile, the oak wondered about how to continue. Then… “As time passed, the years turned into decades. I grew tall and strong. My branches reached towards the sky, and my roots delved deep into the earth.”

“The wall remained abiding… even though some stones had fallen. The stream continued its journey, unwavering and never-ending. You know, I have seen generations of creatures come and go, each leaving something of themselves in the forest.”

“And, in moments of quiet, when the moonlight bathed the forest in silver, you could hear the whispers of the wall. It was then that it told of the hands that had built it. Of the dreams and hopes of those who once walked these woods. Stories of resilience in the relentless flow of time.”

“The wall too had seen much in its time: the changing seasons, the arrival and departure of countless creatures. It had witnessed the passage of time. With infinite stories preserved within its stones. A silent sentinel, it protected the stream and the forest: a dependable point in a changing world.”

“Sometimes,” it went on, “new species of plants and animals arrived in the forest: some thrived, others struggled to adapt. The stream, a source of life for all, was a reminder that everything is connected: a delicate balance that sustains life.”

“Occasionally, even humans ventured into the forest. And they stopped to admire the beauty of the stream and the ancient moss-adorned wall. Some sat by the stream, listening to its gentle murmur and finding comfort in it…”

“And that family of deer…” added the oak.

“They had settled comfortably near the stream to raise their young ones in the safety of the forest. You should have seen the fawns: they played along the water’s edge, playfully tussling or chasing each other. Their laughter was a joyful song… The wall and I watched, providing them shelter and protection. And the stream, with its crystalline flow, was a constant presence in their lives…”

At that moment, the oak noticed that some tears, even in sleep, had began to streak the child’s face. So it signaled the wind to stay quiet, pointing at him. The wind then bent over the little one, caressing his face. While the tree leaned in towards him, wishing to embrace and cradle him and said: “What’s wrong? Did I say something I shouldn’t?”

The child opened his eyes and, rubbing them, looked around.

He was surprised not to see anyone. He was still trying to understand what had happened when the oak tree continued: “Little one, what’s your name?”

The child was still trying to understand, but he turned towards the oak tree: “Miki…” And after a moment of hesitation, “Who are you?”

“I am the oak tree, can’t you see me? I am a magnificent tree, don’t you think so?” it said, in a playful tone. Miki remained silent, but a faint smile crossed his face. “And tell me,” the oak tree continued, “why were you crying a little while ago?”

Miki became serious again. And it was clear he was, once more, on the verge of tears…

“No, wait, don’t cry, please,” said the tree.

Then it changed its mind: “No, sorry, cry if you need to. I think tears do you humans good: to let out your pain…” Still, it bent a thin branch to his face to dry his cheeks.

Even the wind had a heavy heart seeing him cry again. And the wall and the stream watched in silence, not knowing what to add.

In the quietness, the little one let his tears flow down his face. Still, at the same time, he felt the closeness of his new… friends.

Then, when he had calmed down a bit, it was the oak tree that spoke again: “Miki, don’t you want to tell us what’s wrong? Maybe talking about it could do you good…”

The little one sighed but remained silent for a while. Then: “It’s when you talked about the fawns…” and here he fell silent again, his voice broken.

Everyone remained silent, waiting in case he wanted to continue.

And he did: “… they were running and joyful. I don’t remember ever being that way.” His voice so sad...

The silence around him became astonished, almost incredulous. If the oak tree had had eyes, it would have cried. The stream cried for it, its tears flowing from the wall.

Miki looked around, then continued: “But now I have found you and this place, this tranquility…” and with one hand, he caressed the oak’s leaves and, with the other, the wall on which he still sat. The stream continued to flow from the wall, but now they were tears of emotion. And the silence enveloped him in that atmosphere… Everything around participated into that moment. Then it was the oak tree that broke the silence, asking incredulously: “But don’t you have parents? A family?”

The child looked at it with eyes that became sad again… “My dad always comes home drunk and hits me and my mom. He’s not a bad man, but he can’t help himself.”

Then he continued: “And mom is always nervous, even when he’s not there… And she can’t caress me or hold me anymore… I’m so alone. Maybe it’s because I’m not good enough. I try, but whatever I do is wrong” he said, his voice broken. “I just want a smile… a caress, but they suffer too much…”

Adding, “Then it happened that dad was drunk again and chased me to hit me, thinking I had done something wrong,” some tear running down his cheeks. “But it wasn’t true! And I ran away from home and ran into the woods… And I kept running, hoping to get lost, to vanish. Until I reached this wall and sat on it… Crying.”

He stopped: the tears overflowing from his eyes and a lump in his throat. The oak’s branch gently hugged him, and the wind caressed his hair. Even the stream started its crystalline song for him…

And the oak tree… “Come on, now you have us. You’re not alone anymore…” Then it fell silent, not knowing what else to say. It had no experience with human children… But the child looked at it, wiped the tears from his eyes, and smiled. And he looked at all of them and kept smiling… “Yes, now I have you, friends.”

It is so that from that day on, Miki didn’t feel alone anymore. The problems at home were still there, but when he wanted to find friends, he knew where to go.

And little by little, he changed. Now that there was someone for whom he mattered, he learned to love himself and to accept the small mistakes that everyone make. He even became like… a source of peace around him, even for his parents.

His dad gradually managed to stop drinking. And then, coming home, he would take him on his knees and play with him. Also his mom regained her calm and, again, began to realize when he needed cuddles…

Serenity returned to his family.

He also managed to make friends, who sought him out and wanted to be with him because he was… nice. Moreover, he was always available and had learned to recognize when others needed attention.

When he grew up, he became a balanced person, available for those in difficulty. He too, like everyone else, had his own wounds, but he had learned from his childhood: to love others and to recognize the love he received.