There will be a million shining leaves in this old tree that stands alone by the hill. A thousand mushrooms will spurt out at its bottom. But, in the days when the skies start to pour, the tree will be alone. All the little ones who play under the tired trunks of the old tree will run into the shade and safety of their homes.
The tree never wished for a rain. Even when it dropped all it’s leaves one by one, it was more afraid of the solitude that would be brought forth by the rain.
The children, who were sitting under the tree, used to dream about the green meadows and blue sky. The tree wondered, ‘how similar are our dreams!’
The children, believed all the fairytales that they heard. The flying carpets, talking trees and the fairies in the dark. They honestly believed that it all is true.
Their eyes shined with a happiness, which never seemed to fade.
One fine day, all the children were grown up. They stopped coming together to the shade. One or two would come, very rarely.
Their dreams now carry only selfishness. Their eyes are veiled by anxiety and greed.
And the clouds started to pour down in the right time.
The tree bent his head and cried out loudly.
“Burn me down in the next summer.”
The grown ups wondered,
“Unbelievable, look, a tree that speaks!”
