I know this seems strange, but I fell in love with a tree. It probably doesn’t sound all that scary either, but that is the nature of words, simple phrases hide meanings all the time.
Anyway, I’m Jeff and I fell in love with a tree.
I grew up with sprawling woods outside my house. A lot of my younger years were spent in tree forts and playing hide and go seek among the oaks and pines.
My parents both worked a lot and my siblings and I were of the latchkey kid generation. We were left to our own devices most days, biking and being kids.
For as long as I can remember, I always felt something special when I rested my back against this tall oak tree in the middle of the woods. In the summer, it provided shade. In the fall, it exploded with beauty as the leaves went from green, to orange to a vibrant red, before the wind and the swaying of the branches plucked the leaves, one by one.
I spent a lot of time by that giant oak. I would read science fiction stories under the canopy of branches. I’d take long naps in the middle of fall afternoons, the sun on my face and the sound of rustling leaves acted as a lullabye for those short fall days.
I grew up, I grew older, I grew out of my parents house and into the world and set about my life. Girlfriends came and went, my parents began to age and go through seasons of their own, just like that giant oak in the fall.
Season after season passed, until they had a final season of their own and I had to come back home to pack up their things and try to make sense of a senseless thing like death.
I came back to their house on my own, on a fall day. My siblings had their own lives and relationships and I was the only one who was single and had time to pack up the house and consolidate entire lives into sets of moving boxes.
I remember looking out the window to the woods. So many things had changed over the years. People came and went, the town grew in size, but the woods behind my parents house stood as they had stood long before humans ever set foot on this planet.
I could see the giant oak had grown taller over the years. I hadn’t forgotten about it, the swaying leaves would come to me in my dreams at times, bringing comfort in times of distress or loss. It may sound strange, but that tree was always there for me.
I stopped packing boxes and made my way into the woods. I took my time on my way to the giant oak. I looked at our old tree fort that had fallen to pieces as the rains and winters pummeled the cheap plywood boards. I saw where me and my siblings had carved our initials into another tree. Years of growth had indented our names further into the bark of the tree, almost as if the tree was tatooing the memory deeper into itself.
I shuffled my feed in the crisp leaves, listening to the gentle breeze of the day and the thousands of branches rustling their tiny collectors of energy.
When I came to that giant oak, a sudden feeling of peace came over me. It was strange, but the spot where I always sat as a kid was free from grass or brambles, no sticks or thorns were present. Almost as if my giant oak had saved a seat for me, all this time, knowing I would come back. I don’t have to tell you that trees have patience. A day or a year, it’s very little difference to a tree as old and large as this.
I sat down and rested my back against the tree. The sun drenched my face, as it did when I was a child. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I set this very journal I am writing in, next to me, and relaxed.
I don’t know how long I sat there, reader, time seemed to stand still under those giant branches. I only remember the sensation on my hand and jolting to my senses.
I looked down and seen what seemed impossible. A root from the oak tree had spurted from the ground and gently wrapped around my hand. Initially I thought I had grasped an old root that had been there before I came that day, but the slow movement of the tendril broke any illusion of that reality.
As the root tightened around my hand, I felt a sudden pain as it pushed into my palm. I tried pulling my hand away, gently at first. The sight of my blood pooling around the root had brought more adreneline and panic and I began to tug. First, with my arm, then, with my legs against the tree. I pulled and pulled but the strength of a grown man is nothing compared to the power of a tree as ancient as this.
Slowly, I began to calm down. It almost felt as if a drug was being pumped into my system from the root and the puncture in my hand. I felt more peace than I had felt in a long time.
My life began to play before me in my mind. The tree showed me all the times it was there for me and protected me from sadness. How I would lay beneath it’s branches when my parents fought. How it came in my dreams after my college girlfriend broke up with me and left me for another man. It was showing me that it was there for me and would always be there. I felt it tug at me to stay forever. I could tell my mind was not quite my own, the tree had planted something in me. I could tell this was home.
I’m writing all this down with my one free hand. Someone will find this journal someday and understand what has happened to me and why I did what I did.
Other roots have come out of the ground and have wrapped around my legs. I am trying to pull against them, but the tree is telling me not to worry, I was always meant to be here and stay forever.
The roots are pulling my feet down now. I won’t be able to write soon. I won’t be able to do anything soon. I think I need help. I think something feels wrong about this. My mind is becoming clear now and the tree is showing me visions of others it has taken before me. It needs to feed. I’m screaming but there is no one around. A root is coming for my hand. If anyone finds this, Run.
Edit: I know this isn’t such a scary tale but I’m at work and saw the most enticing tree from the window. Leaves of golden orange, calling me like a siren from my workaday life. Maybe I can go to it and it can take me home.