The Lone Tree

There was a tree standing alone in a once vast and lively forest. The blanket of pine needles had been replaced with charred splinters and spent coals. Chipmunks no longer scampered across her limbs, tickling her bark and sending joyful shivers down her trunk. Now, sap leaked from her core, dripping the sticky substance slowly to the forest floor—if you could even call what remained a forest.

The tree was middle-aged and conspicuously tall. Her friends used to say she could shake hands with the clouds, that she could extend a limb and scratch the stratosphere. When she was younger, the idea of slipping away from her world and entering a new one seemed exciting. She had spent her whole life surrounded by other trees, staring at the pearly white puffs in the sky, hoping one day to escape her mundane life and embrace their peaceful clutches.

Nowadays, though, she could hardly stand the sight of a single cloud. When skies turned grey, she would lean toward the ground, bending her trunk to the point just before it would break, cowering as if to protect herself from a violent blow. She would shake on these days, her leaves jangling like a prisoner’s chains. She prayed for the sun to destroy those she once hoped would be her friends. She howled among the wind, writhing forward and backward, side to side. Sometimes, she rocked so violently that a small limb or two would snap from her trunk, producing a pain that matched the hell within her mind. Now she hated the clouds, for they reminded her of the grey and black plumes of smoke that once tormented her home and turned her family to ash.

Three summers ago, the forest was ravaged by a fire. The blaze killed everything in its path—her mother, father, brother, sister, and friends. Each day, she relived the terror. First, there was an exodus of critters. Then, the grey smoke began blowing across their leaves, making it tough to breathe. The smoke grew darker and darker until she could not see the tree standing next to her. She could not even see her own limbs extending from her trunk. The temperature in the forest began to rise until, suddenly, a wall of copper flames poured across them from the sky. The fire devoured everything. She watched her friends wither away as the flames ferociously feasted on their flesh. They fell to the floor, snapping at the trunk. She watched the life disappear. When the flames sprinted away from their home, she was covered in obsidian soot. She had been stripped of most of her leaves, but her limbs and flesh were healthy. Her abnormal height had saved her from being devoured.

The tree thought she was the last living thing in the forest. Somehow, she survived when nobody else did. She felt guilty, unsure of what she had done to earn the blessing of life that was stripped from her family and friends. She promised she would never forget them and never open her heart to another as long as she stood. What a fool she had been in her youth. Only a naive child would endeavor to slip her roots and escape the forest. Only a fool would forget their family in favor of living among strangers. Why had she so desperately wanted to live among the clouds?

For months after the fire, nothing but brittle grey skeletons littered the forest floor beside her. Later that year, a few grasses, mosses, and lichens moved into the forest. They introduced themselves, but the tree said nothing. She overheard them talking about what a terrible neighbor she was—how inhospitable she was, and how disgusting her scars were. Eventually, they stopped trying to speak to her. She did not mind. If she never spoke another word to another soul, she would be just fine. The fire had taken from her the desire to ever share herself with another. She closed herself to the environment, taking in the minimum amount of water and sunlight needed to survive.

For her age—just 200 years old—she was not very healthy. Since the fire, her limbs had begun falling from her trunk with regularity, and her leaves frequently shriveled and shed. Her roots had shrunk. Once, she was a towering, strong tree, able to weather any storm. Now, a monsoon could send her wobbling, her roots shifting as they tried to brace themselves. She was beginning to nurture an infection of bark beetles, too. They drained her of nutrients and left her skin brittle, flaking from her flesh at the gentlest touch. The ravens avoided landing on her limbs, and the squirrels that had returned found homes elsewhere.

For several months, she suffered silently. The forest was growing again, though she was still the only tree in sight. One day, she heard the bushes screaming.

“Fungus! Ew! Get away! Get away!” they shouted as they danced and wiggled on the floor, hoping to avoid the creature spreading below the soil.

The tree heard the mosses singing a schoolyard rhyme: “Fungus! Fungus! Smelly as can be! Fungus! Fungus! Grow away from me!”

The cries drifted closer and closer. As each plant clamored and ridiculed the fungus, it inched nearer. The tree mustered a deep breath, anticipating the pest’s arrival. The fungus bumped into her roots, clumsily.

“Sorry about that! I gotta be more careful!” the fungus said, voice light and friendly.

“Watch where you’re going,” the tree replied coldly, doing her best to make her desire to be alone clear.

“I’m Cory. What’s your name?” the fungus asked, undeterred.

“Connie,” the tree answered, reluctantly indulging him. “Now, please leave me alone. I do not wish to speak to you ever again.”

“Oh…” Cory slumped in the soil, retracting his fibrous hyphae. “I just wanted to—”

“I don’t care what you want. I want to be alone. Go away,” Connie snapped. She stiffened her posture, causing bark to shake loose from her trunk and scatter to the forest floor.

“Well, I don’t know why you’d want that,” Cory said softly. “Being alone is just… so lonely.”

Connie stood silent, refusing to respond. For several minutes, Cory remained at her feet, waiting patiently.

He extended his hyphae to gently touch Connie’s roots and said, “Well, I’ll be here. We don’t have to talk now, but I’d like to be your friend one day.”

Several months passed, and Cory stayed by her side, never uttering another word. On hot days, he never retreated for the shade. When it rained, Cory wrapped himself around her to keep her warm. His touch reminded Connie of when her father used to extend a branch to hers during particularly intense storms. It put her at ease, knowing someone else was there. She hadn’t felt that in years.

Connie bowed her trunk, looking to the floor, and beckoned Cory.

“Yes, Connie?” Cory replied dutifully.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you standing by my side? I don’t even know you.”

“You’ve let the beetles take your flesh. You’ve let the sun wrinkle your leaves. Your roots have shriveled. You are too beautiful, with too much to offer the forest, to be allowed to die like this.

“I’ve been watching you your whole life. I remember when you stared at the clouds with passion and zeal. I watched you open yourself up to house squirrels and birds. You used to tell the little trees not to worry when a storm was coming. But for the last two years, you’ve said nothing. You’ve opened yourself to nobody. You’ve lived only for yourself.

“What am I supposed to do? I lost everything I love.” Connie was fighting back tears.

“Open yourself up to love and friendship. Take a risk. Open your roots to me and allow me to embrace you.”

“But you’re a fungus. Fungi eat things. You’re just going to kill me from the inside out!”

“You trust nobody. You’re killing yourself anyway. If I were to do as you say, you’d reach that end much more quickly. If you open yourself to another, as you have in the past, you might find that fungi are less dangerous than our forest brothers and sisters make us out to be. But the choice is yours. I cannot bring my wisdom to your roots unless you open them to me.”

Connie felt nervous. What little leaves she had left stood at attention. She knew in her gut that Cory was right. She wanted to feel love again. She wanted a friend. She sensed something genuine within Cory. He spoke like her father. He hugged like her mother. He was clumsy like her brother. Cory somehow embodied all the best characteristics of the life she once knew. She felt their presence within him. Unsure of what would follow, she gave Cory  approval to extend himself to her roots.

Cory’s hyphae reached into her cells, embracing her body. Immediately, Connie felt energy flow into her system. Nutrients she thought had been decimated by the fire surged through her. Her flesh began to thicken. Her bark produced resin that expelled the bark beetles from her trunk. Water flowed to her leaves, and her branches stiffened with new life.

“What have you done?” Connie was astounded. She hadn’t felt this good in years. “How did you do this so quickly?”

“Most people never even notice me, but I am everywhere. I’ve touched every part of this forest. I’ve learned from every encounter and absorbed wisdom, knowledge, and vitality through my interaction with those who populate this forest. Most of the time, they don’t even know I am there. I listen, and silently offer whatever resources I can. When I flow within something, it becomes stronger, taking from me the resources I’ve accumulated over a lifetime of growth in this forest. 

“I watched you lose everything you had. I cried deeply when your family burned, and I spent the last three years taking every remnant of their life, and holding it within me, hoping one day you’d be open to receiving it. I saw you cracking at your trunk, your bark withering in the sunlight, and I had to come to you. 

“I want you to know that as long as I live, I’ll never leave you. When you pass, I shall pass too. Within me, and therefore within you, is the love of your family. You will never be alone. You will never stand alone again.”

Connie felt that Cory was telling the truth. She could feel the her family living within her. She felt a loving warmth, the kind she used to bask in while staring at the clouds. As she looked around her, she noticed that new trees were beginning to sprout from the forest floor. 

“You have new brothers and sisters coming! Will you open your heart to them? Will you promise never to ignore their love?”

Connie smiled and nodded, noting how in her youth she thought the heavens would be her savior. The truth, though, is that her savior was at her feet, living beside her for her entire life. She promised herself to never ignore the gifts that the earth presented her ever again. 

She looked to the sky again and saw three pearly clouds. 

“Hello, friends.” She said, remembering those youthful daydreams from her childhood. She reached a branch skyward, admired their presence, let the sun’s rays bathe her flesh in golden light. She knew, now,  that the clouds would always be outside of her reach. But rather than sorrow, she felt relief. With Cory beneath her she knew that she was exactly where she belonged. She’d never be alone again.