The moon rose and off the little girl huffed, up the green grass to sit beneath the lonely pear tree on top of the loneliest hill. Crouched beneath its drooping limbs, hugging tight her knees, she couldn’t tell if she would cry or scream or sink into the earth so deeply to grow wildflowers from her head.
“My dear, what’s wrong?”
“Nobody listens to me!” Exclaimed the little girl.
“Oh, that is hard. I’m here to listen, if you’d like.”
“Say, who are you anyway?”
“Well, I’m you.”
“You can’t be me! I’m me and you’re a tree.”
“Yes, that appears to be true.”
“Silly old tree.”
***
The moon rose and up the little girl trudged, to sit at the base of the little old tree on top of the littlest old hill. Arms hugging across her chest, she slumped to the ground, not knowing if she’d burst in a confetti of embarrassment or cry so much the old tree would bear fruit once again.
“My dear, how sad you seem.”
“Nobody believes me,” sighed the girl.
“What do you wish them to believe?”
“That I’m trying to be good.”
“Good at what?”
“Not good at something, just good.”
“Well, do you believe you are good?”
“Yes.”
“Then that is all that matters.”
“Funny old tree.”
***
Again the moon rose as the girl strode up the green hill to sit with a humph under the green tree. Leaning up against the tree's aging trunk, legs splayed before her, she let her hands fall to the ground and pressed her head hard into the bark, wishing for a moment to grow roots and never return.
“My dear, you seem cross.”
“Nobody understands me,” stated the girl.
“That can be challenging. Is there something you’d like me to understand?”
“I’m hurting and I’m scared, and the world feels so chaotic ”
“That was really brave.”
“I don’t feel brave.”
“In time you will see how brave you are.”
“Curious old tree.”
***
The moon rose and the girl wandered up the little hill to drop beneath the leaves of the little pear tree. Laying on her side, she pulled up her knees and tucked her face into the crook of her elbow, sighing deeply as she closed her eyes, too tired to perceive the world around.
“My dear, are you alright?”
“Nobody is here for me,” spoke the girl.
“Did you feed yourself today?”
“Yes, not well, but what does that matter?”
“It would seem somebody was there for you”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know, but one day it will be.”
“Crazy old tree.”
***
As the moon rose, and with hands in pockets, the girl wandered slowly up the hill, taking time to kick a small stone before leaning gingerly against the tree. Wringing her fingers and allowing her vision to blur, she stared blankly at the stars, watching as they danced in a kaleidoscope of void and light.
“My dear, you seem perplexed.”
“Nobody knows me,” the girl whispered.
“Who are you?”
“I’m not sure I know anymore”
“Then I see why nobody knows you.
“That’s not nice.”
“It’s true.”
“Pesky old tree.”
***
The moon rose and so the girl walked up the lonely little hill to sit lonely beneath the tree. Arms drooping at her sides, she sat hunched, legs bent out in front of her, not knowing if she would cry or laugh or simply crack into a million little pieces and feed the birds that evening.
“My dear, what is it?”
“I’m responsible for somebody,” the little girl said.
“How do you feel?”
“Everything.”
“I see. And how do you feel about that?”
“Overwhelmed.”
“Yes, I’d imagine so.”
“Useless old tree.”
***
Twice the moon rose and then the girl ran up the old hill to crawl beneath the old pear tree. Rolling over she lay atop the cool earth, arms outstretched beside her with face upturned to gaze deeply through the leaves and to the stars beyond, thinking she might seep into the earth and rest with the dead.
“My dear, you are hurting.”
“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” the little girl cried out.
“Oh, but don’t you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That beating, inside you.”
“My heartbeat?”
“That is real, is it not?”
“Thank you old tree.”
***
Once again the moon rose, and with hands behind her back, the little girl strolled up the beautiful green hill, spinning once to take in the stars, to sit beneath the beautiful pear tree. Resting with her legs crossed neatly, she sat with her back pressed lightly to the bark, breathing in memories of sweet sorrow and earth, amongst wildflowers newly grown.
“My dear, you seem happy”
“I am,” the little girl smiled.
“What makes you happy?”
“In this moment; you.”
“Is somebody there for you?”
“I am somebody in a life full of love”
“Are you scared?”
“A little, but I’m brave, remember?”
“Silly old girl.”
