The Birch Trees Story

giant_trees_by_tsonline-d6feyvf

 

One fine summer morning, as I sat beneath the old birch tree my garden, I fancied I could hear a soft voice whispering on the breeze playing through the leaves. It seemed to laugh with the birds jumping from branch to branch and sigh with the butterflies as they settled on the trunk to rest. And so I asked it to tell me a story. A story of by-gone days, of distant places around far away stars in unseen galaxies. Here’s what the old birch told me:

 “My kind is an ancient species from a planet so very different from this that it would be hard for you, who have never experienced others (what you can remember of course) to imagine.

 Long, long ago; many cycles before humanity even thought of evolving here on beautiful Gaia my kind were already an ancient breed. We looked somewhat like we do now but have changed, through time, in response to the differing energies on Gaia.

 On the world from which we came there are very few trees. Those that are, are giant by your terms, and grow far from each other.  There are other plants too of course. Lovely plants, some quite large, others not so much but only the trees are giant, and majestic.

 Now when a tree grows to be a certain age and it is, how shall I say, well established, it naturally begins to feel the need for companionship. With roots deep in the soil of our beloved planet its movement is, well, limited. So out of its wish to have companionship it feels the need to reproduce and pods begin to form in its boughs; many pods the first year. And as those pods ripen and at last burst open there emerges what you would recognize as a human. One from each pod they step, young and beautiful, full of love and gratitude for their mother tree.

 In her love for them she gives them nourishment and a home in her branches. In their love for her they care for her and seek to provide for her needs as she ages. They live, in this manner, with her for generations. Each generation emerging from pods when it is appropriate. After many years, when she has become quite ancient and knows her time nears its completion, she produces a pod, only one, unlike the others. For this one is a human female like no other. Smaller and younger than the rest she is, and blessed with wings. At birth she climbs to the highest branch, spreads her wings and flies away for she is the seed of a new beginning.

 After many days, she reaches a place which she intuitively knows is the right place for her. Descending, at last she touches down and digs her bare feet into the rich soil of the mother planet. Immediately roots begin to form from her toes and grow outward and down into the life-giving soil. She then lifts her arms in gratitude to the father sky and sings the song of her people. A song of joy from the depths of her heart, the song of creation of all that is. And as she does, her arms become branches and her fingers leaves and so a new ancestral mother is created.

 One final addendum: After birthing her seed the ancient mother tree produces no new humans for she is dying. And so her family dies with her as they have lived with her.

 Such is the story of my species.”

 

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