Wishing tree

⏱ ~5 min reading

In the very heart of the Enchanted Forest, where the pines cling to the sky and the moss paves its paths between the roots, there grew an old, old tree. Its trunk was as thick as ten girths - wide, warm, with rough bark that smelled of resin and rain. Its roots went down deep, deep, to the very heart of the earth, like threads of conversation between what was above and what was below.

In the forest, that's what they called it - the Wishing Tree.

Every little animal knew a simple secret: if you quietly, in the quietest whisper, lean towards the roots and tell them your wish, the tree will hear it. But it didn't listen to everyone equally. A greedy word flew away from the bark like water from a leaf. But the good thing - the tree absorbed it into itself, to its very heart.

That was already the law of this forest.

One morning, when the grass was still covered with silvery dewdrops and the air smelled of wet moss and young mushrooms, a little fox ran up to the tree, his tail sticking out and his eyes darting here and there.

"Tree, tree!" cried the fox, shifting from paw to paw. "I want a big, big piece of yellow cheese! And let it be mine alone! So that no one bites, not even a drop!"

The tree was silent. Not a single leaf moved. Only somewhere high in the crown an oriole chirped, and the silence became even deeper.

The fox stamped his paw, frowned, and ran away. "Here's a magic tree for you," he muttered. "It's just an ordinary one. Big and empty.".

And after him a little hedgehog came to the roots. His needles rustled lightly on the dry leaves. He didn't run - he walked slowly, holding on to a mossy mound with his paw. He came up, sat down right between two large roots and put his nose on the bark.

"Tree," the hedgehog whispered, barely audible. "I just wish my mother wouldn't get sick. I want my mother to get sick. I don't want anything else. Nothing at all.".

The hedgehog's eyes were shining. He was afraid that the tree wouldn't hear him - his voice was very thin, like a mouse's.

But at that moment the wind blew through the treetops. The leaves rustled and rustled, as if a thousand palms were clapping together at the same time. A warm, soft whispering went down to the ground - and the hedgehog heard it.

“Go home, little one.” Her heart was already warm.

The hedgehog froze. The smell of warm grass and resin filled his nose. He nodded as if he were talking to someone big and grown-up, and quickly, quickly stomped along the path.

When he ran home, the mother hedgehog was already standing by the burrow. She was no longer lying under the blanket of leaves. Her eyes were clear and her paws were warm.

"Mommy!" squeaked the hedgehog and leaned against her. He immediately cried - from happiness, because sometimes happiness makes you cry even louder than from sadness. "Are you better?"

"Better, son," smiled the mother hedgehog, fingering his needles. "I woke up and it was as if someone had put a warm handkerchief on my heart.".

The hedgehog didn't say anything. He just stood there, hugging his mother's paws, listening to her breathing.

Meanwhile, the little fox kept walking and walking around the Wishing Tree. He kept asking and asking for cheese, big toys, and something sweet. The tree was silent. The little fox was angry. «It’s unfair!» he thought. “Why should the hedgehog have it and not me?”

A few days passed. One morning, the fox cub's younger brother, Little Fox, fell ill. He lay in his hole, didn't eat, didn't play, and only whined softly. The fox cub sat next to him, scratched him behind his ear, and for the first time in his life felt that there was no room for anger in his chest—it was too tight and painful.

It ran out of its hole, rushed through the ferns, through the wet grass, through the mushroom clearing - straight to the old tree. It sat down at the roots, put its face directly on the moss and whispered.

— The tree… not for me. For my brother. Let it get easier for him. Be a sweetheart.

The branches rustled. Warm, gentle. It smelled of resin, as if someone had just opened a bottle of tar ointment.

"Run, little one," the crown whispered. "He's feeling better now.".

The fox ran back. The little fox was already sitting and licking his paw. His eyes were cheerful, his tail was tapping. The fox hugged his brother, and for the first time in his life it seemed to him that cheese, even the biggest one, was just a piece of food. But this moment was something completely different.

From that day on, the fox changed. Not immediately, not in one day — just like we all change slowly. But he no longer came to the tree with a greedy "give me." He came with "help us.".

And the hedgehog and the fox became friends. They often sat together at the roots of an old tree - just like that. They didn't ask for anything. They listened to the rustling of leaves, the dragonflies flying over the clearing, and the woodpecker tapping somewhere deep in the forest.

The wishing tree lived on. It knew the ancient truth, which the first seeds of life still whispered to it: the magic is not the tree that fulfills. The magic is the heart that loves. The tree only listens. And the real magic wand is carried by every little animal, every child, in its own little warm chest, full of kindness.