MY FATHER, THE OAK

MY FATHER, THE OAK

Artwork : "Oak Fairy" by Josephine Wall

       I don’t remember when I was born. All I know is that my first craddle has been an oak leaf and that the light filtered through the branches has tenderly carressed me. I was only a little acorn but the light was my mother. I was living wrapped up in a leaf near the heart of my father, the old oak.
        My parents loved me very much: my mother was waking me up each morning with sun rays and my father was singing to me each evening leaf lullabies and I was falling asleep in the leaf’s craddle, dreaming of angels.
        But one morning when I woke up, all forest had been covered by gold. I was so happy that I wanted to sing, but my father’s sadness has broken my joy. "The fall is already here, little girl - he said - and now we have to pass away. But don’t be afraid; next spring we’ll be back again for the earth to rejoice"…
        And I still have lived like this for some time, each day in more light, each day between fewer leaves, until one day when my father dropped me down from his old and tired arms. And very soon it has snowed from the angels’ wings and all my sleep has become angel wing and moon silver until one morning when I woke up gently touched by a snail’s horns.
        - Good morning, dad! I said.
        - Good spring, little girl! answered the old oak.
        - But what’s this? All winter long I have dreamed of millions of angels and now I woke up with millions of eyes. What happened, dad?
        My father didn’t answered to me, but I found the answer in the infinitely multiplied echo of my words. I wasn’t anymore the little acorn who had sadly entered the winter’s sleep. I was a rustling forest.

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