Remembrance of Birthdays Past

We remember when we were born. Not many of the People can say that, you know.

But we have memories of the sap that once ran through our veins. We remember the time before when our green newness was barely a bud on a bare branch. We remember the time after, the break and fall to the carpet of leaves on the forest floor.

And then the crystal-clear memory of gentle hands picking us up, holding us up to the sun once again.

A small journey, bumpy but cozy, followed. Sitting close beside other Tree Spirits--slim branches, acorn tops, seed pods, smooth stones, leaves--we whispered to each other. This was an adventure, to be sure, and we felt excitement like the shadow of the sap that once pulsed through us.

And then we were placed in a neat row atop a table, again by those gentle hands. We looked around in wonder at the yarn and wool and bits and pieces from our Forest. We looked at the Person who had brought us here. Nanou is my name, she told us. Nanou, Nanou was the sweet sound we heard as she sanded us smooth.

And that is when we came alive again, when we marked our true birthdays.

I took on a jaunty acorn top for a hat and a scarf that blooms with flowers. My friend with the beak nose, Monsieur Le Nez, can be a cold fellow, supercilious, looking down his long proboscis. But not with his fitted crocheted cap. He got quite chatty, in fact, when Nanou tied on his scarf. He thanked Nanou for making us feel warm again. Yes, we were warmed by Nanou's care, and stylish to boot.

We sat together for a while, admiring each other.

And then Nanou placed us in a box, where we nestled together and began another journey, this one much longer. When the box was opened, we were in a new place, where the leaves outside the windows of our room greeted us in a new language. Welcome, they said, as they showed us their changing colors and varied shapes.

Now those leaves are as dear to us as the ones back home, and we watch in wonder as they mark their changes.

We see their birthdays, when they explode from their tight buds, uncurl in the spring and unfurl through the summer. They dance in the breezes, cradle raindrops in their breasts.

When they fill with color, we wave the scarves that Nanou gave us. We cheer them on and wave goodbye.

And then we rest and wait for them to come again. While we wait, we tell each other stories of the Forest and of dear Nanou, of the gentle spirit that gave us a new life.

And we wish her a very Happy Birthday in this time when life still flows through the earth and the trees and the tightly furled shoots warm underground. A life aglow in us but unseen by People, making its preparations for the spring.