THE TINY CHRISTMAS TREE by Douglas R. Bergman © 2003 Used with permission.

Deep in the winter woods, miles from any road or light in any window, pillow soft snow covered the forest with cold clouds of crystal quiet. The boughs of the mighty pines shivered in the crisp night air. The older, stronger, and wiser trees had endured many brutal winters bending to survive splintering in the savage wind. Circle round was the safe, warm hug they made to protect the young and weak trees that they might reach to the sun for a second spring. The old ones swayed and sadly groaned. Where many young ones once grew to the sky, there were footprints nearly filled with new snow. One small tree remained. It was surrounded by jagged stumps and scattered scraps of ravaged bark. The top of the last tiny tree hung down. 'Why do your eyes rain?' sighed Abraham. The wind was light but Abraham allowed it to bend him closer to comfort the sad little tree. The young one tried to smile, weakly waving its scrawny branches. Abraham was the oldest, wisest, and most scarred. Rock hard sap covered the jagged black stumps of his limbs broken off by ancient angry weather. His gnarled trunk was covered with elephant hide bark 3 inches thick and creviced like ancient slender streams flowing through time grand canyons. Two sets of arms could not circle him. 'Where are my friends?' Wise Abraham answered, 'I don't know.' 'Will they ever come back?' asked the young tree, hopefully. 'The young ones never come back when there are footsteps in the snow,' said Abraham firmly. 'Where do they go?' 'I don't know,' said Abraham. 'For more cold suns than I can remember, it was quiet. The deeper the snow, the safer we were. Then one gentle snow, the footsteps came and the young ones were dragged away and never came back.' 'They won't ever feel the brisk wind in their branches?' begged the young one. 'No,' said Abraham. The young one had never heard of the old wise trees sound so sad. 'Why didn't the footsteps take me?' the tiny tree said, plaintively. 'I don't know,' said Abraham. The little one was the smallest and scrawniest. It never saw much light so its branches hardly grew. There were so few of them and they were weak and tired. Some were broken from the strong winter winds. The little one sighed because it felt different. It loved the little bunch of branches at its top. But it missed the other young trees and felt so alone. The late night winter wind became a bone chilling storm. The little tree shivered and trembled. The mighty pines bent and swayed with the wind. Their creaking limbs sang a sad song. They had no low boughs to shelter the last young tree from the icy wind. It did its best to stand strong, but it was so very tired. From the distance came the soft crunch of steps in the snow. It was velvet black dark. The mighty pines could not see what was making the sounds. All Abraham saw was the dazzling star-light diamond angels dancing in the new snow. The footsteps crunched closer. The small tree trembled. Abraham and the elder mighty pines shivered fearfully. So came the strangers, bundled in thick, downy coats, with warm boots, packs on their backs, and weary looks on their faces. At the grove, they crunched to a stop and looked at the open space where the young ones once stood. Their icy breath clouded the air as they sadly stared at the last young tree. The strangers' steps were few and weak. They looked off in the distance to the top of the hill and the many miles of thick forest beyond to where the shimmering, pale moon rested in the sky. Twigs and boughs from where the young ones once stood became soft sleep cushions and a fire. The packs and gloves came off by the warm glow of the crackling fire next to the last smallest tree. Cones were gathered from the ground and rested on its branches. A cup dangled here, a piece of string there, and a scrap of colored paper from the food they carried gave it a happy look. A few pine branches were twisted together into an angel. The strangers smiled, put the angel on top of the young tree. They held hands and looked at the beautiful tree. Their breath billowed in the icy air as a small pot warmed the strangers' stew in the fire. Far away in the deep woods, miles from any road or light in any window, the strangers stood by the fire and looked at the tiny tree dressed with cones, strings, and paper with the pine needle angel on top. The fire crackle danced. The strangers' hands came together. The last tiny tree stood proud and tall before them. Abraham lead the mighty pines swaying and sighing sacred songs with the wind. 'Look, little one. Do you see it?' Abraham asked. Its smile of amazement grew. In the eastern sky, one star shone brightly as the snow fell. The heavenly light shimmered down the snowflakes to sparkle off the angel perched on the tiny tree's top. It smiled. 'Do you understand now?' Abraham asked. 'Yes,' beams the tiny tree. The strangers smile and sway together with Abraham and the mighty pines bending gently as one in the wind. The tiny tree understands the ancient stories. 'This is Christmas.'

Douglas R. Bergman is the Author of "Names I Can't Remember"
available at Amazon.com & Barnes & Noble.com
& can be reached at writerdrb@aol.com

"The General" image © J. Dubs Steel Silhouettes

page inspired by Jim Simchera SBHS '67

101st Airborne, 327th Infantry Regiment, 1st & 2nd Battalions

101st Airborne, 327 Infantry Regiment


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Happy Holidays