What the Young Tree Whispered in my Ear

I rested my head against the car window, adjusting my angle to avoid the sharp noon sun rays. They filtered through the thinning foliage of the young tree that caressed the car door. I looked up lazily. She was not a big thing, young - but not too young. She had not seen many winters I suppose, but enough at least, to give me respite against the glare of the sun, the kind of glare that looks specially sharper in the midst of winter.

Until then, I had not noticed the tiny red flowers that were scattered scantily all over her branches. They danced in the soft breeze, carelessly, along with their green counterparts. The beauty of the scene mesmerized me, until nothing in my peripheral vision existed any longer. Suddenly, it was just her and me.


She seemed to say to me, "Why do you at look at me so wondrously? What a fool you seem to be - a million people have walked on this path, and just as many cars have stopped right there in your spot. Why do you give me a second thought where no one has given me a first?"

Distracted slightly by a hovering bee getting ready to take a little break atop one of her flowers, I turned back to her face and replied, "Do you not know your worth? Why do you decide you are not worth a second thought? Is it because the world has conditioned you, ignored you and so you stand here, thinking you are good for nothing? So let me tell you then what you are to me:

"You are steadfast, you do not yield when the wind blows hard, or when the water runs dry. Sure you retreat when you need to, but not by choice, but rather to survive, and then bloom again to your full glory after hardship has relented. You are not yet tall and strong, not yet, and still you give shade to people, a respite to little birds and sustenance to creatures too small and weak."

"Look at your beauty; it is profound, but only to those who perceive it.  Those that don't have the inner eye will never acknowledge it, so don't be offended at their loss."

She seemed to give a little nod. We were for a moment, in harmony with one another.

And then the moment was lost, as moments often are, by the thought of plucking a flower from her bosom. I thought how my sister would like it, after all, aren't we women just suckers for flowers anyway? (To the men reading this post, go get your other half a flower today.)

I started to roll down the window, extended my hand and then I heard her whisper, "Please," she seemed to say, "it is my child, not yet ready to leave my embrace. Pluck it, and it will wither and die. It will never transform into the fruit it was meant to become. It will be robbed of its purpose and its essence will be lost into nothingness forever."

My hand halted in mid-air, and withdrew post haste. "I understand," I said, ashamed and abashed.

And so I returned, with no flower for my sister, but that did not effect her in any way, but I knew there could have been a greater loss (for those who perceive) had I acted on my impulse, self-less as it was.

The moral of the tale (ludicrous as it may seem) is that no one is without worth. Every one has something to contribute. The sadness stems from the fact that they themselves lose sight of what they are worth, what power they hold.

Secondly, there will always be higher powers who have it in them to crush, squash and destroy your well-being, sometimes out of sheer ignorance, sometimes out of spite, and then the resulting chaos is simply self-destructive. Nothing good comes of it, not in the long run anyway.

Perception and vision are everything. If you have it, then realize it, live up to it, and above all, never lose it in all the turmoil, confusion and mist all around.