The Old Tree and The Doe

Deep in the forest--far from the civilizations of the animals that walked on two legs, who build large and forboding dwellings of stone, who drove around in monsters that filled the sky with smoke--there lived a wise old sycamore tree. She had seen the toils of centuries. The rings deep within her trunk stood as proof of her long existence upon the earth. She felt the weight of each ring of age on her heart.

“Come to me” the old tree would say. “Come flock to my branches robins, sparrows, jays. Come and clamber up my wide trunk little squirrels. Come burrow in the soft earth between my roots.”

All the animals of the wood who heard her call, came with haste to play, and fly, and climb, and burrow by the old tree, for they knew she had a kind heart, and would turn none away.

On one such day, as the sun was filtering through her green leaves and a light breeze rocked her high branches, the wise old tree’s call was answered by a young doe, who wandered near the base of the sycamore. Her coat shimmered in the spotty sunlight.

“Come here, little doe, and eat of the grass that grows beneath me. Stretch your neck to eat the leaves off of my lowest branches. The food you find here will fill you.” The old tree said, with her voice as smooth as the gentle breeze that floated along.

The doe looked around very timidly. Her tail was up, as were her ears, alert for the sound of danger.

“What is wrong? Why are you afraid?” the old sycamore asked.

“The animal who walks on two legs is in the forest.” the young doe said, “He came with a long metal stick. It made such a terrible noise, and when he pointed it at my father. . .”

A tear trickled from the doe’s glassy eye, coursed down her snout and fell at the base of the tree.

The old tree let out a heartbroken groan. The sound of despair echoed throught the forest, and many other trees took up the melancholy call.

“My little doe. . . When men come to the forest, there is loss. There is such painful loss. They do not understand. Please, come closer”

The doe crept closer to the sycamore, and she stretched down her long, sturdy, branches to shelter and embrace the doe. The enclosure felt so safe, that the doe stopped crying.

“Thank you mother tree.” the young doe cooed.

The old tree sighed. “The sting of loss will not leave. To forget would be a sin. But as long as you remember, with humility, the precious bright memories, those we lose are still with us. Their spirits watch us from the sky, and they never are truly lost.”

The young doe stayed right there in the tree’s embrace until the sun set. Then she meandered back to her home. After all, the doe still had a mother and a younger sister that she could take comfort in.

As time passed, the animal that walks on two legs began to enter the forest more often. They came with the sticks that make loud noise, and many animals fell at their shot. The old tree continued to comfort the creatures affected by this loss.

Then they came with blades, and began to hack down the trees. Even the mightiest among them fell with the swoop of of their blades. The old sycamore lamented for her fallen kin. But she remembered their mighty spirits, and she felt them in her soul. The animals that walk on two legs made such noise. Noise that was unfamiliar in the quiet wood. They made noise with their weapons, and their blades, and they shouted to each other. Even the old tree, who understood the tongue of every animal in the forest, could not interpret their garish cries.

The doe became a regular visitor to the sycamore tree.

“Why do they do it?” she asked the old tree one day.

Birds landed in the branches. Squirrels stopped mid-climb, nuts still in the cavities of their cheeks. Even tiny insects stopped their patrols. Every creature had been thinking the same question and were eagerly awaiting the answer of the one they deemed the wisest in all the forest. They waited a long time. She did not respond.

“Mother tree?” the doe asked.

The sycamore swayed gently. Her bark shifted and crackled.

“I do not know,” the old tree finally said. “I do not know why they cause so much destruction. Perhaps they are as the predators in the forest and must kill to survive. Perhaps they use the limbs of trees to make their homes.”

“They are cruel!” a finch in one of the highest branches tweeted indignanly.

The old tree chuckled. “Are you, who eats the worms of the earth, and who uses twigs and grasses to build your nest. . . are you, little finch, so much different than they?”

A cold winter struck the forest. It was bitter and snowy, and the ground was hardened with frost, but the cold seemed to keep the animals who walk on two legs away from the forest. For which every creature was grateful.

In the driving snow, the doe approached the old tree.

“What are you doing here my little doe? Shouldn’t you be at home taking shelter from the snow?”

The doe seemed to walk with heavy, slow steps. She looked tired, and in pain, but also very happy. Her stomach sagged in the middle.

“I couldn’t think of any place better than this to have my first child.” the doe said with a smile. “Besides, your many sturdy branches will keep the snow away.”

The old tree watched with an expression of quiet awe and joy as her little doe pushed a new life into the world. The doe and her new fawn laid at the foot of the tree and slept all through the night.

Late into the darkness, the storm stopped. But the white twinkling stars made it seem as if the snow was still falling-- just taking a very long time to do it. The new mother licked her fawn, and caressed his head with her own.

“Mother tree, ” the doe whispered into the chilly air.

“What is it child?”

After a time, the doe continued, “There is one more reason I came to you to have my baby. . . You are one of the last trees in the forest. You have always been a refuge for so many, and you are one of the only ones left.”

The old tree would have cried if she could. “I know.”

The doe perked up her head as her infant stirred, then rested again as he quieted.

“Mother tree, I fear I will have to take my baby and find a new home.”

The sycamore began to quake. “Oh, don’t leave me!” she said quietly, but with sincerity. Then she replied with gentleness,“But of course you must do what is best for your child.”

The moonlight sparkled in the old tree’s snow covered branches.

“I will remember you,” the doe whispered. “Just as I remember my father, and as I remember the other trees.”

“And I will always be with you,” the old tree promised.

Many years later, the summer sun shone down on a barren hill. Brownish grass grew sparsely, and short tree stumps dotted the ground. A mother doe was walking with a fawn. She stopped at a particular stump, and looked down on it with sadness in her black eyes.

“This is where she stood,” she told her son.

The fawn, who had grown so much since the last time he had stood in this spot, also looked sad. He had heard the story from his mother. A kind, wise old tree who offered protection to all animals in need. His mother had given birth to him under this very tree, he couldn’t remember it though.

“Why would the animals on two legs cut her down?” the fawn asked.

The mother stood closer to her son. “I just don’t know. I once asked her why they did what they did.”

“What did she say?” the fawn inquired curiously.

“She told me that they were just like other animals of the forest. They used the trees to build their homes.”

“But why would they kill her?” the fawn was close to tears.

Just then a child came bounding up the hill. Not a creature of the forest, but an animal who walked on two legs. The two deer had been so deep in conversation, they had not heard him coming. And there was nowhere for them to hide for protection.

This was one of their kind. They had taken her father, and now her mother tree. The doe was frightened and angry at the sight of this child. They were capable of destruction. There was no telling what this animal might do to her, or her fawn.

The doe ushered her fawn back, and started to step backward as well. Then she saw what was in the child’s hands.

He opened his palms to reveal a single seed. With his fingers he dug a shallow hole in the earth by the stump. Both puzzled and interested, the doe inched forward very quietly. The child dropped the tiny seed into the hole. His expression was very strange. The doe had never seen one of them look like he did. He looked sad. He looked forlorn that others of his kind had caused so much hurt. His eyes also sparkled with hope.

He noticed the two deer a little ways off. Though he was startled at first, he crept closer to the doe and her son. When they backed away, the child stopped. He stretched out his hand.

The fawn was the first to move forward; his mother followed. They nestled their noses against the boy’s palm.

Though she doubted he could understand, the doe breathed three words into his hand.

“I forgive you.”