Remember Spring

It has been summer for fifteen years. My aging branches grow heavy.

The human’s home lies vacant and wind-worn beside me. The leaves I had used to protect it from the sun’s firelight have long since withered.

Leonis, his mother, and his brothers have been gone long, sheltering from the scorching heat in the cooler southern lands. Perhaps when summer ends, they will return to these sun-burned woods. I must believe and hope. Yet, I fear this may be my last long summer. I, the eldest, grow tired of my own weight under the sky fire’s vengeful gaze.

I remember spring, when young Leonis climbed high to touch my leaves, laughing at the fearful sparrows. I remember Kythian, his father, speaking to me at night, listening to my fears while telling me his own. He is sick no longer, lying peacefully beneath the earth. I use my roots to shield his bones from biting insects.

Days pass as time stretches endlessly. Dry winds ravage the land, whistling through my branches and cracks in the human’s log-stacked dwelling, stealing water from the earth.

I will wait for autumn, for the humans to return. Then, I will listen to their singing and hear Leonis laugh again… if he is not too old to laugh.

The grass and smaller plants shrivel and fade. Distant brush fires fill the air with ash, poisoning the soil. My desperate roots go deep, reaching, searching, tunneling, and finding ancient, hidden water. It is sweet and rich, and I drink it gratefully.

The days grow shorter, and summer ends at last. The woods become green and full again.

From afar, I hear a voice shouting.

“Ho! Big Tree!” An older Leonis calls. His laughter booms as frightened sparrows fill the air.

I sigh in a cool breeze, content.