Parting Glances
Once upon a time there was a forest. It was a small forest with only twelve trees. Over the years – perhaps a hundred or two – the forest sheltered both foreign born and native as well.
Gradually the natives were excluded because it was thought that natives did not know how to plant trees, nor how to care for them. (Even though they could magically tell directions east, west, north, south, from green, soft telltale moss markings.)
And the forest grew. Yes, it grew. And how! And as it grew the natives were, well, disposed of. One by one they disappeared. One by one they were not really missed. No not at all. (The moss messages were ignored, as of no importance.)
Those who lived in the forest were told that the forest was the only – yes the only – place of importance. More important than lakes, mountains, deserts, streams, the plains that surrounded it.
Why go elsewhere? became the watchword printed on every leaf marketed. Why indeed?
Of course with time the small tree acorns grew into mighty oaks. Everyone was pleased. Yes very happy, as they looked up and could just barely see the tops of the forest trees.
"The taller the tree, the more likely the gods above will see the tree tops, and be so very proud to remember that, like our trees, we are a majestic people. Our gods, too, are majestic beings.
"They are strong oaks of concord. Strong sequoia of strength. Spiritual shades to keep us content from the harsh light of the shining sun," said the Forest Keepers, self-appointed pruners, trimmers of roots, branches, stumps, inspectors of eagle nests.
Speaking of Forest Keepers, as a group they made a good living by gathering leaves, writing wise sayings on them, sewing them together in leafy booklets, and selling them to the many, yes many, forest dwellers.
And because the leaves quickly turned red, then orange, then yellow with the changing seasons, the Forest Keepers each year sold new bundles, which the forest dwellers were eager to buy – actually they had little choice – because the sayings, which changed seasonally, made them feel that the great – greatest ever – forest was, thank the gods, the only place to be.
One spring unexpected transgressions took place in the mighty, mighty, tree forest. How it happened no one could say with certainty. (The Forest Keepers made up reasons later, reasons to castigate and decry the culprits. Saying, "Who would do such an unnatural thing? Yea verily!")
The change – the defiant act – to tell truth now – probably seemed harmless enough to those unthinkingly risking it. But it was a dastardly act. (Remember, trees, and trees only, are a sacred, indeed a patriotic tradition. The taller, the holier.)
"The gods know us because of our symbols. From 12 trees we've grown to 50, to 100, to 1000. A million's next. The gods admire power. Mighty like an oak! That's no jokum."
It was quickly determined that the only thing to do to please the gods was to arrest the offenders, and as was done with those earlier natives, quickly, quietly, remove them from sight. Out of sight. Out of mind. Out!
The round up began mid-spring. Ten on the dot. A glorious eagle flying overhead was, said the Head Forest Keeper, "An omen of commencement! Show no mercy. Do your duty. E pluribranchus oakum!"
By noon the round up ended. Fortunately the culprits were few in number. Mostly young. Foolish. Obvious. Out of step. But they were guilty without a doubt. Their pockets were filled with – oh, lasting shame! – tiny seedlings of many kinds. Their flower beds were quickly trampled under foot.
Ah, yes. So sad. These flower miscreants can't see the forest. Or the trees.
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