Story) When the Trees Talk . . .

THE STORYSPINNERS OF EVERLAND 
Stories from Everland's Ancient Silver-Bound Storybook

When the Trees Talk

 Miranda and the Sparrow

                                                  

 ONCE, JUST A LITTLE while ago, a young girl picked a path to walk on in the Candlewoods, that made all the difference between her having the ordinary things, which fade away, and the extraordinary things, which didn’t. She chose a pathway which would lead her out of the woods to what was beyond and there she found a wonderful happiness. She gave what she couldn’t keep to gain what she couldn’t lose. She had discovered the way of all wonders. For though, only young, Miranda knew it was unselfish love that worked the beginnings of marvellous things.  

   Far away, at the edge of a pool in a secret place, suddenly, a single tree grew up from that first small seed of love, she gave. It was beautiful. It was a mystery. We do not know the half of what love can do. 

   After following the path for awhile, the small girl came at last to the bridge of the babbling brook. Nearby, she sat down, and pondered, her feet swishing in the stream. ‘What shall I do, now?’ she said, to herself, quietly. She had a decision to make, and although she was too young, she wanted to be sure she made the right one. Miranda looked at the stream. She saw it running . . . on and on . . . without stopping . . . endlessly giving and giving . . . and so . . . living and living? Never stopping never growing dull and stagnant? And she wondered.  

   All at once there was a flash of brown wings and a small bird flew down to her. He flew onto a dry stone near the middle of the stream. ‘Listen to the brook!’ he sang, ‘Hear its babble! Hear what it says!’ 

   Miranda listened. 

   ‘Do what is in your heart to do . . . and live, live, live!’ she heard, as the running water swept by; and she gasped with delight. The brook had answered her! 

   Miranda turned to the little brown bird, who was watching her. ‘Then will you come with me, and help me?’ she said. 

   ‘That is what I am here to do!’ said the Sparrow, as he shook his wings; which made them shine with love. Together they crossed the bridge and journeyed on and on upon the little girl’s quest. 

   After a time, they reached the secret place beyond the Mountains of Sensennae and came to the pool of the still small voice; the pool of tears. There Miranda saw a lovely tree . . . brightly shining! . . . All silver-gold! She went and stood beside it; and looked at it more closely. Its leaves quivered and sparkled in the dancing Wind and there were small shining fruits all over it! And, most curious of all, upon its middle branches, on either side of its trunk, it bore a little silver nutmeg and a golden pear. ‘This is what in your heart you planted. Loving-kindness, given, is living! And faith, grown, is a living tree!’ sang the Sparrow and he flew up into the branches and plucked the silver nutmeg and brought it to the girl. He returned to the tree and picked the little golden pear; and gave that to her, also.  

   While Miranda marvelled at the two trinkets in her hand, the Sparrow flew down to the edge of the pool and pulled up a single strand of grass. In his beak it became a golden thread. This he gave this to Miranda. She laughed and strung her treasures on the golden ribbon. It was a necklace, which she tied round her neck. Happily she reached up to pick the shining fruit. For the tree, willing gave up its all for her. 

   The fruits were small and round; and grew like cherries. But, inside, instead of cherry stones, there were sweet and delicious nuts. ‘How can I carry so many?’ Miranda wondered. But before she knew it the Sparrow had helped her. He was beside her now with a small basket made of thin and supple reeds, all deftly woven together; as marvellous as the nests he wove each spring. 

   ‘Scatter the fruits of the tree of life, everywhere;’ said the glowing Sparrow, ‘for everywhere they are sown, talking trees will grow! And when the trees talk . . . then you will know wisdom’s silent speech . . . for love’s four seasons will tell their tale!’ and the Sparrow flew on and away, and Miranda followed, sprinkling the little nut-fruits over the ground as she went. 

   Soon they came to a steep hill. It was too hard for the small girl to climb. But Miranda began to climb the steep grassy hillside with its rocky little outcrops, scattering the fruits as she went. Suddenly, she lost her footing and tumbled down the hill. She fell a long way; but she was not hurt. She was wearing the silver-gold necklace: love and faith . . . the gift of the little nut tree . . . the silver nutmeg and the golden pear. Miranda had thought that she ought to be able to do everything well, and do it correctly. But love never asks us to do what we feel we can’t. The loving intentions of her heart were sufficient. The kindly hovering Sparrow picked up the fallen basket and scattered the nut-fruits for her. 

   Overnight they entered the ground and grew; even as the flower seeds once had. In the morning, talking Trees were all over the secret place! They grew and grew! Many of the dancing tear-sown flowers and whisperwills were grateful for their shade. Many of the creatures, furred and feathered, were glad for their fruit. 

   Season by season...  Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter... the trees spoke to Miranda: Of her new beginnings... the flowering of her life... the appearing of her fruits of love. Even the loosing of her hold on what she knew... falling from the pages of her own book of life... and her winter branches all bare of visible life... even here. These were the talking trees, who knew everything, but who said nothing, for they were too wise. In growing silent, wisdom’s speech: the language of the heart, which all who love can clearly hear and speak. 

   ‘What can you give that you cannot keep, to gain, what you cannot lose?’ asked the Wind, as he gazed upon all things, in his strong blowing all over the land of the secret place. 

  ‘Love!’ answered the Sparrow. ‘It’s only in giving it away that it’s real. Only when it is real, can it return its reward: ...happiness! ...and more and more, love!’ and as he spoke this... his common little song... to which so few really listened, he flew on and away, and Miranda followed, growing in wisdom and understanding, day after day. 

   And the Wind danced over the water in the pool of tears, and danced over the sea in the shining moon-path, and cried, ‘Even if all the feathered creatures of the air ...the Ringdove, the Nightingale, and the Sparrow... cannot catch me, I will catch them in my arms and turn their songs into speech!’ 

   And through Miranda and Marcos and Amryn, the little friends of the Wind, the World learned to listen and to the sound in all things. It heard the things which would set it free... for, ever and ever.

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