De gulle boom

Once there was a tree, and she loved a little boy. Every day he would come to her, his small hands gathering her fallen leaves to weave into a crown, and he would play king of the forest. He would scramble up her trunk, his feet finding holds in her bark, and swing from her branches until the sun dipped low. When he was hungry, he would eat her apples, and when he was tired, he would sleep in the cool shade she cast upon the grass. The boy loved the tree very much. And the tree was happy.

But time, as it always does, went by. The boy grew taller, his face lost its roundness, and his visits became less frequent. The tree was often alone, waiting. One day, he came back, but he did not climb or swing. "I am too big to climb and play," he said. "I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money." The tree had no money, only leaves and apples. "Take my apples, Boy," she offered, "and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy." So he climbed her trunk one last time, gathered her apples, and carried them away. And the tree was happy.

A long time passed before he returned. The tree shook with joy, her leaves rustling a welcome. "Come, Boy," she said, "climb up my trunk and swing from my branches." But he was a man now, with worries etched around his eyes. "I am too busy to climb trees," he said. "I want a house to keep me warm. I want a wife and children." The tree had no house to give. "The forest is my house," she said softly, "but you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy." And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away. And the tree was happy.

Many more years drifted by, and when the boy came back, he was weary and stooped. The tree was so glad to see him she could hardly speak. "Come, Boy," she whispered, "come and play." He shook his head. "I am too old and sad to play. I want a boat that will take me far away from here." The tree looked at what remained of herself. "Cut down my trunk and make a boat," she said. "Then you can sail away… and be happy." And so he cut down her trunk, and made a boat, and sailed away. And the tree was happy… but not really.

After a long, long time, when the tree was nothing but an old stump, the boy came back one last time. He was an old man now, his back bent, his steps slow. "I am sorry, Boy," the tree sighed, her voice like the wind through a hollow log. "I have nothing left to give you. My apples are gone."

"My teeth are too weak for apples," he said.

"My branches are gone," she continued. "You cannot swing on them - "

"I am too old to swing on branches," he replied.

"My trunk is gone. You cannot climb - "

"I am too tired to climb."

"I am sorry," the tree whispered. "I wish that I could give you something… but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump."

The old man looked at the stump, low and weathered in the grass. "I don't need very much now," he said quietly. "Just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired."

The tree straightened herself up as much as she could. "Well," she said, her voice a little stronger, "an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest." And the old man did.

And the tree was happy.