The largest oak in the forest

⏱ ~6 min reading

In the middle of an old forest, on a hill from which three more hills were visible, stood the Giant Oak. The largest oak in this forest and, they say, for a hundred miles around. Its trunk was such that four grown men, holding hands, could barely hug it. The bark was wrinkled, rough, with deep furrows, like old wise eyes. And the crown was broad, like a green cloud that had caught on the hill and remained there.

He was already three hundred years old. He remembered the times when there was no trail here. When there was no little forester's hut on the edge of the forest. He had seen times of war and times of peace. He had seen how titmouse chicks were hatched on its branches - and grew up, and flew away, and returned again. He had seen how generations of squirrels, moles, hares, and hedgehogs were born and died.

Entire cities lived on its branches. Somewhere at the very top - a family of starlings. Below - woodpeckers. Even lower, in a hollow, - a wise owl. In the thick bark - bark beetles, ants, small bugs and spiders. Under the roots - a mole with his family. The giant did not notice anything about himself - they said, I am just standing. But for many he was a whole house.

One warm summer morning, a tiny bug crawled out onto him. Green, shiny, no bigger than a buckwheat grain. It had just emerged from under a leaf and decided to see what the world looked like.

The beetle climbed for a long time. First, along the root, which protruded from the ground like the back of a dragon. Then along the bark, clinging with its paws to the wrinkles. Then higher, along the smooth part of the trunk. The sun was scorching. The beetle stopped, rested, felt its thin legs, and climbed again.

It was only by noon that he reached the highest branch. He sat on its tip, caught his breath, and looked out.

Below him lay a whole world. A green forest, a silver stream, a distant field with yellow flowers, the tops of other trees resembling the waves of the sea. For the first time in his life, the beetle saw how big the world was.

His head was spinning. He whispered softly to himself:

— Oh… so much world.

The Giant Oak heard. He could hear the quietest voices. Old, wise, he listened to everything that moved on his bark.

“Do you like it?” he asked in a quiet, low voice that made the leaves on the nearby branches tremble.

The bug jumped up. He looked around. He realized that the Giant himself was talking to him.

"I like it," he replied in a whisper. "Very, very much. And tell me, Uncle Giant..." the bug dared to ask what had been on his mind since morning. "Were you once small, like me?"

The oak tree fell silent. And then it laughed. It laughed softly, but inside — which made its entire great crown tremble. A rustle — the leaves rang like thousands of little bells.

"Oh, kid. Of course it was.".

"It can't be!" the bug was surprised. "You're so big.".

"All great things begin with a small acorn," said the Giant gently. "I was no bigger than you. Maybe even smaller. I was an acorn. Round, smooth, in a brown cap. I lay in the moss and was freezing. I thought: "Now it will rain - and that will be the end of me." And the rain came. And the snow came. And I sat under them and dozed. And in the spring a thin root went into the ground. And a thin sprout - into the sky. That's all.".

The bug listened, holding its breath.

— And then?

— Then — I didn’t stop growing. Every year — a new branch. Every year — a new circle on the trunk, inside. It’s called a ring. I could count them if I sawed myself. But I won’t give in, — winked the Oak. — Every year — a new leaf, a new bird in the crown, a new handful of acorns below. Three hundred years like that. Without stopping.

The beetle thought for a moment. Its legs moved slowly along the branch.

"So I'll be big someday too?"

— Yes, — nodded the Oak with all its crown. — But big is not always about size. I am big as a tree. And you will be big in something of your own. A bug will never grow to the sky like me. But it can become a big heart. A big mind. Great in kindness. It all depends on whether you keep your roots — in the ground and in your heart.

"And what is this - roots in the heart?" the bug was surprised.

The oak tree sighed softly. The branches of the crown swayed.

— It means growing throughout your life. Learning new things. Listening to others. Loving. Being patient, like water in a stream that sharpens a stone. Then you grow, even if you no longer grow outwardly. You become wiser. And wisdom is real growth.

The beetle sat on the branch for a long time. Until the evening. He looked at the forest and thought. And the Oak quietly sang to him the rustling song of the leaves.

When it got dark, the bug climbed home - slowly, carefully, so as not to fall. The oak tree shone after him with the rays of sunset between its branches.

All summer long the little bug crawled along the oak bark. He listened to wise words. He asked about everything. About the woodpecker, about the acorn, about the rain, about the chicks. The oak told him patiently - he had time.

Autumn came. The beetle crawled into a crack in the bark, curled up, and fell asleep for the entire winter.

When he woke up in the spring, he was the same little bug. He hadn't grown an ounce. But something inside him had become different. He already knew how a leaf is born. How the rings grow inside. How not to stop, even when it's dark and snowing all around. He didn't notice it himself - but he was already wise. Small - and wise.

They say that little bug lived a long life for a bug. And until the very end, he would come to the Giant Oak and listen to him. And when new young bugs came to the forest and asked the old one: "Were you once little?" he would smile and answer:

— All great things start small. You just have to keep your roots. Not in the ground. Not in your heart.

And the Oak smiled in response with its whole crown. Because the greatest joy of the great is to see wisdom take new roots. In someone completely small. Completely quiet. But his own.