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There once was an old oak standing all by itself in a giant meadow. As far as it could see, there were no other trees, just grass and a little more grass, and down by the river, running through this meadow, some willow bushes.

All winter long, the tree stood gloomy in the cold wind and the long, dark nights. Not until spring coming back, the birds singing and building nests on it's branches, it would cheer up. In the meadow, the flowers began blooming. At first dandelions, like a thousand lit lanterns in the light green grass, and later many more. Marsh marigolds, bugles, corn cockles and field scabious. And all kinds of insects were buzzing from one flower unto another.

With the summer setting in, when the air was shimmering and everything in nature was vibrating with life and growth, it sometimes happened that the tree was visited by a girl coming out in the meadow to play. Once in a while she would be running around hunting dragon flies, never to catch any, of course. Or she would sit in the grass and make a wreath to put on her head, like a princess' crown, to restrain her long, rebellious curls. And she could come up with making flutes made of willow, and if they didn't turn out any good, she would just take a blade of grass, hold it tightly between her thumbs and blow a long, hoarse and mournful whistle.

When she got tired and hot of running around, she would sit in the shadow of the oak tree, drinking lemonade and eating cookies which have been in her shoulder bag. Now and then she would climb the tree and hide behind the leaves. If she was sitting really quiet, a redstart would sometimes land close by and look at her with one eye, wondering if she was really alive or just some inanimate object.

And the oak always felt so very alive when the girl would come visit it. If the sun was shining in the morning, all it did was wondering if she was coming, and if the weather had been cold and the sky grey for a long time, it got more and more sad because then she probably would not turn up. Most depressing was that long winter when she did not come at all, and there were no butterflies or flowers either. Just some sparrows and blue tits would stay behind, sitting on it's branches, a single crow flapping over it's leafless top, calling out a lonesome "caw, caw".

Years went by like this, but the girl got bigger and bigger, smarter and smarter and more sensible. Gradually becoming so sensible that she no longer cared for making wreaths or throwing adders into the stream to see them swim. One spring she did not show up at all. Not until later during the summer, but now accompanied by a young man that the oak had never seen before. They sat in the shadow of the tree, started kissing and saying things to each other that was, to say the least, nonsense. Of course the oak got aggravated by seeing and hearing this, but could not do anything about it, mute like it was and not being able to move.

The worst thing was, though, that the young man suddenly got up, took out a knife and started carving in the bark. He made two, big hearts with letters in them, pierced by arrows. The girl thought that was so romantic, and she kissed him for the ninety-ninth time in return for his artistic effort, and together they walked away with their arms around each other. None of them ever returned.

But the old oak tree did not know because all the sap in it's trunk oozed slowly from the hearts that have been cut in the bark, and with the sap, so did life ooze away, too. The leaves withered and never got green again. The branches dried out and got blown away in a storm, the bark loosened providing housing for woodlice and millipedes, until one day where the tree had rottened away completely.

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Excerpt from "21 Dage i Juli" (1977) by Kasper Ginning (deceased).
English translation by Puff.