He always dreamed of. All of his life he could remember. Trees around just waited until he went older – they knew: there is nothing worse for a dream than the ordinary and cynicism of life. So they waited him to become like they are: sad, with broken branches and bark with flayed, quiet in the rain and tired under the sun. Time went by and he went older, lost his branches and pieces of bark (one of his branches people decided too strong and particularly annoying they just sawed off – it was very painful, but not deadly). But he still never stopped dreaming. No matter what the difficulties and bitterness happened, at any weather and in any day, his crown still full of dream, with little smile and look that rested somewhere far away and it always annoying them, the...
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He had sprouted out of a seed so long ago that nobody in this forest could not say when it was exactly. While those who had been witness to this, we haven’t had here: someone became furniture, someone – just a wood and gave their coal and ash to the benefit of people, someone just died from the disease and fell down and turned into food for living. He wasn’t peevish, sullen or snobbish despite his more than respectable age. He knew and remembered so many things, even half of what wouldn’t fit in all the books that would make of him (but, thank God, before this, nobody thought). And he would glad to pass the time and refresh the memory, telling his stories to somebody, but nobody would listen to him: trees around or talking leaves, or sleeping when chat was nothing; birds… they ain seemed always talking; and people just walked past him, admired him, photographed next to him and no one even couldn’t imagine that the tree can tell whatever...
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She was already old. She has been old for a long time. In these wetland part of the forest they even said she is eternal and doesn’t change with the time. Of course it wasn’t the truth. Just like the gossips that she became a witch since the death of her beloved husband Silvan. Yes she knew everything about any plant not only in that forest but about everyone, but it wasn’t a witchcraft! Nearest trees laughed at her when she was telling about her distant relatives somewhere far away: dwarf pines in Japan gardens which were small size equal to her roots or giant Cedars in Siberia to whom she even couldn’t reach their navel. But she was calm to neighbor’s ignorance and unfunny humor. Because when you’re living for so long you can understand what’s really...
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