This beautiful story is about an Ash tree who saw men and women reading and writing beneath its shades. The author begins with:
The trees have always had some idea of what happens to them when they die.
Yes they do. They have seen their friends and neighbors being chopped down and converted to furniture, handles, wheels and what not. But the most noble of them were those who were converted to books. The trees saw these books changing lives and enlightening generations.
These trees took pride in the idea of being a Book: they thought a Book was a noble thing to become, if you had to become anything- a terrible bore to be a racer, after all, and a wheel would mean such a battering, though of course the travel was a bonus, and what tree in It’s right mind would wish to be a rack, coding, crucifix, gallows…
One such tree was Ash tree.
They saw the men and women holding their pens, and the ink that came out of them on to the paper, and although they didn’t have hands, they tried to curl their branches into fingers that might hold pends, and they dreamed it so vividly that the tips of their fingers turned black with ink as they waved against the blank white page of the sky, trying to write on it.
And this is why the Ash trees have black buds and branches bent upwards at their tips towards the sky.
I absolutely loved the story. It is a short feel good story about reading. Read it on a good morning under a tree. You will love it.😊
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