The Comfort Tree

A fairy tale about tears

Once upon a time there was a girl with large, sensitive eyes and a long ponytail. Her name was Sarah. She lived with her parents and her little brother on the edge of a small town.

Sarah did not speak much, but she knew how to listen. And so it happened that, from a young age, people began to tell her their stories. Not only classmates and older students poured out their hearts to her, but also her parents, and friends and acquaintances who came to visit, took her into their confidence. Often, tears would flow. Sarah gathered those tears in her heart. As a child, she lightened the hearts of many.

Sarah loved nature. She dreamed of long walks through dense forests and across wide plains, of heavy mountain journeys and refreshing rivers. But her parents had neither the time nor the money for such things. Their small house did not even have a garden. So every Sunday, her grandfather took her to the nearby park. There he taught her the names of trees and plants, and together they listened to the birdsong. She loved it deeply.

In the middle of the neatly mown lawn stood a large, old weeping willow. It was not the most beautiful or the tallest tree, but for Sarah it was very special. She loved hiding beneath its branches, which sometimes — when the gardener had not passed by — reached all the way to the ground. She would lean against the trunk and feel how the weight of all the tears she carried in her heart became lighter. It was as if the tree absorbed them. She imagined that the thousands of leaves on the hanging branches turned into as many shimmering droplets of water, and she felt comforted.

The years passed. In the busyness of life, Sarah barely had time left to listen to stories. The tears in her heart surfaced now and then, but she ignored them, and eventually they were pushed aside into a silent corner of her soul. Daily routine, the beautiful house with a garden where she now lived, caring for her children, distant travels and many friends — all of this covered her soul with a thin layer of varnish. In time, Sarah even forgot her special gift. And yet, in moments of solitude, a distant sorrow kept calling her.

Gradually, calm returned to her life. The children grew up and followed their own paths. As time passed, the call within her grew louder. The tears found their way out. Sarah sometimes cried for days without knowing why. Until one day, an old school friend who was struggling came to her door to tell her story. Sarah listened. For hours, without interruption. Tears flowed again, abundantly. Once more, Sarah opened her heart and received them.The next day, another friend came. Then her brother. Soon her own children and their friends found their way to her hidden gift.

Sarah remembered who she had been as a girl. Her soul revived and opened again. Her life changed completely. However difficult and painful it sometimes was, she could no longer resist the call of her soul. With the life experience of the years, her gift of listening had grown richer and deeper.

People began to tell each other about the woman who took your tears into her heart and lightened your sorrow. And so it happened that people from far and wide found their way to Sarah, who listened. And listened. And listened. For days, for months. Until her heart became too full, and she could no longer bear it.

Then Sarah remembered the weeping willow. She returned to the old park in the hope of finding it again. The park, which once had seemed so large, had now grown wild. But the tree was still there. Old and somewhat bare, but she recognized it at once. It seemed as if the tree greeted her.Hopeful, she sat down against its trunk. And yes — the magic was still there. The life sap of the tree absorbed Sarah’s tears, and on the leaves appeared real, tiny droplets, now sparsely scattered across the thinner branches.

So the years passed. Sarah became a grey, wise woman, a refuge for all who needed a warm shoulder and a listening ear. Again and again she went to her faithful friend, the comfort tree, which continued to lighten her tears. The trunk absorbed her tears — the joy and, above all, the sorrow of so many people — after which the moisture rolled down from the leaves in small, sometimes heavy drops.

Sarah grew old. Very old. After listening to the last story — that of her youngest grandchild — she breathed her final breath. A wave of sorrow passed through the town, but she also left behind love and gratitude in many hearts. A silent crowd accompanied her to her final resting place, at the foot of the weeping willow. That was her last wish. And there, resting in silence beneath the tree, her heart broke open. A flood of tears, stored for years at the bottom of her heart, found its way to the tree.The tree wept. And kept weeping. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, the old park around the tree transformed into a lake of tears.

If you walk around the lake today, you will still see the old weeping willow standing in the center. And if you look very carefully — with the eyes of your heart — you can still see them: the thousands of salty teardrops, like small diamonds, adorning the leaves of the old tree and slowly rolling downward. Until they fall into the water and once more offer a little comfort to the lake of great joy and deep sorrow.

Lies

December 2017