{"id":1636,"date":"2026-05-05T23:24:00","date_gmt":"2026-05-05T20:24:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/?post_type=kazka&p=1636"},"modified":"2026-05-05T23:24:00","modified_gmt":"2026-05-05T20:24:00","slug":"derevo-shcho-dyvylos","status":"publish","type":"kazka","link":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/kazka\/derevo-shcho-dyvylos\/","title":{"rendered":"The tree that watched"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u23f1 ~4 min reading<\/p>\n\n\n

Sofiyka first visited her great-grandmother in the fall. The road was long, the car rumbled, and when they finally stopped at the old house, the girl immediately ran to look around the garden.<\/p>\n\n

The garden was large and a bit wild. Viburnum bushes hid between the apple trees, dry leaves rustled in the grass, and at the end of the garden, near the old fence, stood the largest oak tree that Sofiyka had ever seen. Its trunk was so thick that even three adults holding hands could not have grasped it.<\/p>\n\n

Sofiyka came closer - and froze. There were knots on the bark of the oak. Many knots. And they all looked like... eyes. Big, small, round, oval. Some looked down. Others - somewhere up. And one, the largest, looked straight at Sofiyka.<\/p>\n\n

\u201cArtemka!\u201d she called to her older brother. \u201cHere\u2019s a tree\u2026 look!\u201d<\/p>\n\n

Artemko ran up, looked and snorted:<\/p>\n\n

"They're bitches. Just bitches. Let's go pick some apples.".<\/p>\n\n

But Sofiyka didn't go. It seemed to her that one of the eyes blinked. The girl took a step back. Another. Her heart beat like a little drum.<\/p>\n\n

\u201cHello,\u201d she whispered. \u201cAre you alive?\u201d<\/p>\n\n

The oak tree was silent. But the wind suddenly stirred its branches, and all the leaves rustled - softly, affectionately, as if the tree was laughing.<\/p>\n\n

Then great-grandmother Orisya came out of the house. She walked slowly along the path, leaning on a stick, and smiling.<\/p>\n\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d she said. \u201cHave you met Grandpa Oak yet?\u201d<\/p>\n\n

\u201cWhy does he have so many eyes?\u201d asked Sofiyka in a whisper.<\/p>\n\n

The great-grandmother sat down on a bench under a tree and patted the spot next to her. The girl sat down carefully, not taking her eyes off the bark.<\/p>\n\n\n

\"\u0414\u0435\u0440\u0435\u0432\u043e,<\/figure>\n\n\n

"These are not eyes, my little nut," said the great-grandmother. "These are memories. This oak tree is two hundred years old. I used to swing on it when I was little. My father used to swing on it. And my grandfather. And many, many more children before us. And when a child loves a tree, a new knot appears on the bark. A small one, as follows from a kiss.".<\/p>\n\n

Sofiyka looked back at the oak. Now the eyes were no longer scary. They seemed to be smiling.<\/p>\n\n

\u201cAnd this one?\u201d the girl pointed to the largest one. \u201cHe\u2019s looking at me.\u201d.<\/p>\n\n

"That's my memory," said the great-grandmother softly. "I loved this oak tree the most. It remembers how I wove wreaths under its branches. How I hid behind the trunk from the rain. How I fed the squirrel that lived in its hollow.".<\/p>\n\n

Sofiyka carefully placed her palm on the bark. The bark was warm - as if the oak was really breathing. And then she noticed: a small red-tailed squirrel with a nut in its paws poked out of the hollow. It looked at the girl, blinked its black eye and hid again.<\/p>\n\n

"And if I love him too," asked Sofiyka, "will he remember me?"<\/p>\n\n

"Of course," the great-grandmother nodded. "But not right away. Memories grow slowly, like trees themselves. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten.".<\/p>\n\n

Meanwhile, Artemko brought a rope. He tied it to a thick branch and made a swing - the same one that his great-grandmother once swung on.<\/p>\n\n

Sofiyka sat on the swing. Artemko gave her a light push. The girl flew up - and now she could see the roof of the house, now she could see the red roofs of the neighboring villages, now - a distant forest and a strip of the river. And the oak tree held her firmly, firmly with its branch.<\/p>\n\n

"Thank you, Grandpa," whispered Sophie when the swing stopped.<\/p>\n\n

She thought one of the eyes blinked again. Only this time it wasn't scary. It was like the wink of an old friend.<\/p>\n\n

In the evening, as she was going to bed, Sofiyka looked out the window. The oak tree stood in the moonlight, tall and calm, and held on its branches all the memories of the children who had once swung on it. And the girl thought: tomorrow she would definitely come to him again. And the day after tomorrow. And in a year. So that Grandpa Oak would have a memory of her too \u2014 a little eye-bitch that would look at future children with a quiet, gentle smile.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n\n

\u2728 Old things and old friends remember us more than we think \u2728<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n

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