LEAF OF A TREE

LE F OF A TREE

Catherine Fitzgerald

Blake ran up to the tree as fast as her little legs would go. This time would not come again for a whole year. No more scaredy-cat. No more running away after getting this far. It would be now. Today. Blake placed her foot into the crook of the first branch bending her elbow over the top of the one above. She lifted her body about six centimetres off the ground. Now, putting the last step in her long-term plan, she felt exhilarated.

Then, she fell off, her head smacked into the branch behind. That hurt. A lot. She rubbed her head. When the pain had subsided, she got up and brushed all the dirt off her jeans. She placed one palm on either cheek and wiped the dirt away. Mixing with her tears, the streaks formed little brown whiskers. Blake’s mind was made up. Now! Today!

With little hands clasping the soft leaf of the tree, she squeezed gently. It bounded, right back to the leaf shape. This leaf, this tree, was living and breathing, even though it looked so different, and did everything differently. It was a part of her with a spirit of its own. She needed this tree. Blake tiptoed to the large base of the tree and stretched her arms out as far as she could. She hugged the tree with all her might. Gently, respectfully, and quietly, she spoke to the spirit of the tree.

‘Miss Tree, Miss Tree, my name is Blake. There is something I need to do but, if you please, I need to climb up your branches to do it. I will be careful, I promise. I need your help. Please!’

As her face rested on the huge trunk, there was a feeling that came to her, and she stayed still. There, she listened and felt, and felt and listened. She knew that the tree had strong arms as much as she knew that her arms were not so strong. She knew if she was careful and only stood on the tree’s arms that could hold her, she would make it there and back without falling off. Blake placed her foot onto another branch, remembering to be calm. She climbed carefully; the tree’s arms seemed to welcome her weight. The smell of the bark and leaves were fresh and crisp, and the tree’s trunk was knobby and had many places for her feet to safely go. What Blake did not know was that a tree could have plans of its own.

After climbing for what seemed like forever, she rested, again placing her head on the tree trunk. Then, something very strange seemed to happen. Light bent and the branches of the tree wrapped around behind her. The tiny little ones touched her back, like fingers, holding her so she would not fall. Even the sunlight seemed to bend but not in a way she could explain. In front of her, a large hole appeared in the tree trunk. In the hole was a smooth slide. After stepping into it, she slid down. Down and then around and around—even upside down. She felt dizzy at all the aroundness. Suddenly, the slide flattened out.

‘IS ANYONE HERE?!’ Blake yelled.

’Don’t yell, don’t yell,’ a very irritated voice behind her said. ‘I have very sensitive hearing.’

‘What are you?’ Blake asked the very strange creature.

‘I am an Owlf. I am glad you asked what and not who. Most people ask who and then roll over laughing like they have said something funny.’

‘There is no ‘ef’ in Owl.’

‘Oh, you doubt me, do you? From where I am standing there is an ‘ef’ in ‘Owlf’.’

Blake looked as hard as she could. Not seeing anything but a big, squat, fat bird, with big eyes and a purple waistcoat. She gave up. Suddenly, a winged insect flew into the room. Blake squealed with fright.

‘Wh … wh … what is it?’

Fear rose in her stomach. The flying insect had a neat tartan pattern on its back and deftly landed on the Owlf’s shoulder.

‘He is a man-bug. We are good friends.’

‘Welcome,’ the insect said, as he pulled a tartan hat out from under his wing and bowed deeply.

He flew over to a hollow log at the edge of the room and disappeared into it. Out from the edge of the lightness the figure of a tree approached, two branches held akimbo.

‘Who are you?’ Blake asked, as she could clearly see what it was. ‘You,’ came the reply.

‘NO!’ Blake had just about had enough. ‘WHO ARE YOU?!’

‘YOU! But you may refer to me as Mr Clyptus.’

‘So that is settled,’ Owlf’s voice trilled with excitement. ‘We are all going to a honeybee brunch that is not a brunch made of honeybees, but is bees making a honey brunch. There is a difference you know!’

‘Wait one minute.’

Owlf flew over to the log, which by now had a big paper sign at one end that said: MAN CAVE—MAN BUG— NO— LADY BUGS—ALLOWED. He went to the far side of the log, stuck his head down the hole and said, ‘Hello … Hello … Hello … Hello …’ It echoed back and forth. Suddenly, a tartaned head shoved right out through the note.

‘You only needed to say it once,’ the irritated man-bug yelled.

Everyone filed to the tree table and sat down, except Mr Clyptus. Blake wondered how she would eat with no spoon.

‘You have fingers,’ Owlf explained. ‘If you want a lot of honey then you just use your biggest finger. If you don’t want so much, then you use your very little finger.’

As there was some logic to this, Blake’s fingers were used. At the end of the meal, her hands were very sticky. Owlf got up from the table and walked over to Mr Clyptus.

‘OUCH, OUCH, OUCH, OUCH, OUCH!’ The long-pointed leaves, which were pulled from Mr Clyptus’ branches, were placed on the table. They were used to clean the sticky honey off everyone. Blake was even able to clean off the ‘whiskers’ she had acquired before she climbed the tree.

Remembering the reason for her visit to the tree, Blake said quickly, ‘I need to go now.’

‘We know.’

Owlf directed her to two little tree steps, warning that once she walked up them, she would be very high up. Blake walked slowly into the clean, fresh breeze, arriving exactly where she had originally wanted to go. Looking down she gasped in awe at the large nest. A circle with mud, twigs, fur, and spring buds—along with five little eggs. One of the baby birds had nearly pecked his shell off.

Blake whispered in wonderment. ‘Welcome, tiny bird, to this wonderful world.’