Giant Tree

Fresh Air for All?

The stunned axe!
[Source – Pixabay]

Mister, why would you cut down trees?

The sound of an axe against the giant tree’s trunk breaks the quiet air, chopping it off into pieces, bit-by-bit, the air is stunned.

Mister, why would you cut down trees?

The fragrance of the giant tree’s old life, full of a mixture of rich air, earth, water, light and love, now bleeding, sharpening the axe with every hit, giving-giving-giving with every touch, revives the stunned air then.

Mister, why would you cut down trees?

Them sparrows, squirrels and owls, eagles look at from a distance, them lizards, beetles, butterflies, bees, run towards a new shelter, them ants keep crawling for they know they must find a new path for the giant tree is being hit by a sharp message.

Mister, why would you cut down trees?

The creepers and crawlers were cut down first, they are lying in a bundle chopped off there and there, life in their slippery veins still taking in the thick grim air moving around the tree. The air hugs the tree tightly, now and then, and every time it does, the axe gets stuck in the trunk, stunned by love.

Mister, why would you cut down trees?

The fungi and lichen that sat on the giant tree’s trunk and branches, meditating for ages, open their eyes to observe carefully everything, every hit, every drop, every turn of the air around the giant tree. It observes and becomes one with the slow killing, seeing, dying along, yet living to pass it on.

Mister, why would you cut down trees?

The giant tree is about to fall down, the birds know it, and so does everyone that is alive there, but the man doubts and waits. The man pushes and picks the axe again, in a hurry for a solo reason. The giant tree sways a little, it is ready, look, hear, it comes down kissing gravity.

The man shudders, for the giant tree is down and it says nothing, it cries not. The air feels heavy, almost dead and the man senses it not.

Mister, why did you cut done the tree?

“For fire and to build a house, a garden, a giant building, a bridge, a highway, a dam, a runway, a platform on which one can stand and address thousands and thousands, explaining them the many ways to live a better life, a peaceful life, a cleaner life with fresh air for all.”

Fresh air for all?


Love is in the air.
[Source – Pixabay]

Somewhere, a seed comes alive and is gently caressed by the sun-soaked bright air and the rich wet earth; and so, like it happens every time, with the very first step that the seed takes, it knows of love.


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A Storyteller Appeared

Listening to the storyteller with care.
[Image by Bianca Van Dijk from Pixabay]

A storyteller appeared… and cross-legged, excited, whispering, wondering, quiet, blank yet touched by warmth, we sat in a circle around him.

As if the giant tree with creepers, fungi, lichens and company, stepped back humbly, only to create a space for us listeners and the storyteller.

As if the wind played softly, swaying, singing a chorus in the background, only to live the tale being told, only to collect and pass it on.

As if the quiet birds stopped chirping or playing Chinese-whispers, only to let the melodious melody of the storyteller resonate.

As if the fragrant river turned into a dancing rivulet, only to water the story.

As if the blessed earth, steadied the spinning sky for a bit, only to partake in the narration.

As if the jungle beasts, big and small, furry and feathered, befriended the now and stopped the time, only to witness the storyteller’s old and endless Gatha.

As if the words, rhymed and bold, simple and gold, measured well and sold, performed in unison, only to let the storyteller’s story by all be known.

Glory to the known that welcomes the unknown.


The absolutely fantastically amazingly brilliant book Beastly Tales from Here & There by Vikram Seth inspired the blogger to write this piece as a tribute to the author and as a short, crisp sort-of-a-coverage of the book.

It is a must-read for anyone interested in life, stories and the art of storytelling.


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