The old oak tree’s last dream
In a forest, high up on a hillside sloping down to the open shore, there stood an extremely old oak tree, three hundred and sixty-five years old to be precise, but that long a time was nothing more to the tree than the same number of days to humans – we are awake in the daytime, sleep at night, and have our dreams of course, but for the tree it was different – it is awake for three seasons, does not sleep until it is winter, winter is its time for sleeping, is its night after the long day that is called spring, summer and autumn. Many a warm summer’s day the May fly had danced round its top, lived, hovered and been happy, and if the little creature rested for a moment in silent bliss on one of the large, fresh oak leaves, the tree always said: ‘Poor little thing! just one single day is your entire lifetime! how short though! it is so sad!’
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