Why The Evergreen Trees Never Lose Their Leaves
An American Folktale
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On a crisp autumn day, when the sky stretched clear and blue, a small brown bird fluttered weakly between the trees. Its tiny body trembled from the cold, and its wings, once strong and swift, could barely carry it forward. Winter was coming, and the bird had been left behind by its flock.
It had tried to follow them, soaring high into the sky, but the wind had been too strong. Now, lost and weary, the little bird needed a place to rest before the frost crept in.
The bird hopped to the foot of a great oak tree, its branches stretched wide and proud. Looking up, it chirped in a small, shivering voice, "Oh mighty oak, may I take shelter in your branches? The cold winds are coming, and I have nowhere else to go."
The oak tree rustled its leaves in disapproval. "I am a tree of great stature," it said, "and my branches are reserved for strong birds, not weaklings who cannot keep up with their own kind. You must find another place to rest."
With a heavy heart, the little bird flapped away, its wings growing weaker with each beat. It soon came upon a tall maple, its bright leaves shimmering in the late afternoon light.
"Kind maple tree," the bird pleaded, "your leaves are so warm and bright. May I take shelter in your branches just for the night? The frost is near, and I am too weak to fly."
But the maple, though beautiful, was vain. "I cannot allow you to stay," it sniffed. "I must keep my branches light and free, or my leaves will not dance so beautifully in the wind. A bird like you will only weigh me down. Go and find another tree."
The little bird’s heart sank, but it did not give up. It flew on, wings aching, until it reached the graceful willow by the stream.
"Gentle willow," the bird begged, "your branches sway so softly. Please let me rest in them just for the night."
But the willow, though it bent with the wind, did not bend in kindness. "I do not shelter birds in winter," it murmured. "My branches are delicate, and I cannot take in every creature that asks. You must look elsewhere."
Tears welled in the little bird’s eyes. The sun was setting, and the air had grown sharp with the promise of frost. It felt as if the whole forest had turned its back on it. Was there no place left for one small, tired bird?
Just then, a low, steady voice called out, "Little one, come and rest in my branches."
The bird turned and saw a sturdy fir tree, its green needles stretching towards the sky. It was not as grand as the oak, nor as dazzling as the maple, or as graceful as a willow, but there was warmth in its voice.
"Are you sure?" the bird asked, its voice barely above a whisper. "I am small and weak. I may not survive the winter."
The fir tree only rustled its needles gently. "Then all the more reason to shelter you. Rest here, and you will be safe." Grateful beyond words, the bird nestled into the fir’s strong branches. A nearby pine tree, hearing their exchange, leaned in and said, "I, too, will help shield you from the wind. My needles are thick, and the cold will not reach you here."
Then a little juniper tree, growing close to the ground, spoke up. "And I will offer you my berries to eat. You will not go hungry." The little bird, exhausted but comforted, closed its eyes as the three evergreen trees protected it through the long, cold night.
When morning came, the forest glistened with frost. The proud oak, the golden maple, and the swaying willow stood bare, their leaves scattered on the frozen ground. The wind had swept them away during the night, leaving their branches stark and empty.
But the fir, the pine, and the juniper stood just as they had before, green and full of life. That was because when the Frost King passed through the forest that night, he had seen how these three trees had shown kindness to the little bird. As a reward, he had granted them a special gift: while other trees would lose their leaves each winter, the evergreens would keep their’s forever, a symbol of warmth and shelter even in the coldest times.
And so, to this day, the evergreen trees remain lush and green throughout the winter, a reminder that kindness, even to the smallest and weakest among us, is never forgotten.
Holbrook, Florence. The Book of Nature Myths. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., 1902. https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/22420/pg22420-images.html#Page_118