The Pine Tree, by J. W. Cassandra

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The tiny seed dreamt: „When I become a real, huge pine tree, I will attract admirers! My slender, titanic trunk, my evergreen branches, beautiful green branch will attract everyone’s gaze…”

And then the little seedling evolved into a small tree, then a small pine tree. The truly sky-high, slender pine, in the shadow of which he was hidden, encouraged him: „Do not let the laying siege to the celestial heaven float before your eyes! You might stay part of the woods. You may be one of the tree brothers that make up Earth’s lungs. It’s also possible that you’ll be chosen as a Christmas tree one beautiful day…”

„Christmas tree?”

„Christmas tree? What’s that like?”

„A joyful, light-celebrating, loving, miracle-waiting and miracle-bringing holiday, the center of which is the Christmas tree: with its sparkling and glittering ornaments, it steals the heavenly miracle into people’s hearts, and with its tiny lanterns, it smuggles light and celebration into hearts in the darkest depths of the all-encompassing darkness. So that they can rejoice and that they remember that hope is always alive, as is love, which foments the world and is the nanny of billions of its life forms…”

„And what if I’m not selected?”

Eager Wish of Being a Christmas Tree!

„Then you can be one of the creators of clean air that is vital to the creatures! That’s a great, noble task, as well.”

But the little pine wanted to be a Christmas tree. And while in every darkness-bringer December he waited with anguish finally to be chosen, he had no idea of the sad reality: what has a beginning, it has an end in any case. And one beautiful day he was chosen: an axe was held on his trunk, he screamed silently during each of the axe strike, but if he had screamed loudly, one would not have heard him, for whose heart is hard, his ears are deaf, his eyes are blind… And they cut down the little tree, who now only had the hope that someone would choose him as a Christmas tree. Heartbroken, he stalked the man who approached him in the pine depot: maybe, he could take him… But the days passed, people one after the other, chose different trees for ourselves, and he was grieving in the depot. While a foot stopped in front of him on the morning of the feast, and the man pointed out promptly him: „This shapely little tree, please!”

Attired in Ornaments

Then he arrived at an apartment, where the man carved the bottom of his trunk into a heavy stay-plate, which hurt him a lot, but the joy of becoming a Christmas tree made him forget the anguish. And the man set him in the a heavy stay-plate. Then came the young adults, who put pieces of Christmas fondant wrapped into shining wrappings, small burners, beautiful, sparkling-glittering golden, yellow, red, green, snow-covered blue, sparkling spheres on their branches, twisted sparklers to their ends, and then released boas on his covered branches: like a king dressed in a cloak, the little tree towered above the family, the whiteness of the peak of snow on its peak decoration was sparkling, and he almost fainted in his happiness, when they put the gift packages for the children under him, and then lit the sparklers. They were just sparkling around, really, like so many little stars scattered on the ground! And a tinkling sound of a little Christmas bell was heard, and the whole brood of children ran in making a joyful noise, and then they sang all the beautiful Christmas carols, and angels sang to them from the heights, which they could not hear, only the Christmas tree delighted in their voices.


And the joy persisted, although the pieces of Christmas fondant ran low: the glamour of the ornaments of the beautiful Christmas tree became more and more worn, and one day the hands that had previously decorated him were now depriving him of his ornaments: they took off the colorful, shiny spheres, the boas, the burners, only the empty wrappings of the Christmas fondant were swinging on it. And one of the kids – maybe accidentally, maybe intentionally – kicked even him. Then there was a debate about his fate: whether the garbage can, the dump, or whether to just throw him out on the street… Finally, the man who picked him, grabbed him, took him down to the street, and leaned him against the edge of the concrete pavement: who cares what happens to him…

Hiding in the Withering Scent of his Dying

And the Christmas tree, deprived of its ornaments, leaned obliquely on the curved concrete border, covering his head in the withering scent of his dying, to hide at least it from prying eyes… But there were no and there are no prying eyes: the dying, once beautiful, happy, miracle-bringing Christmas tree does care no one. And he keeps wondering why it should be celebrated at all, if time of happiness, of miracle, of love is so ephemeral. However, Christmas lasts only a few days! But the creatures live here every day, they need the maintaining love every day, just like the air! Then why is it a must to execute the innocent pines, who are tiny but essential cells of the planet’s lungs? Who’s that who makes the decision: it is valuable, it is worthless? What right can one have to judge? What useful does one create during their ephemeral lives? What’s the use of waiting for a miracle if one then forgets the miracle? What if they don’t experience it every day in their creative, value-creating work? And what awaits him and countless of his companions in distress?


However, people do not answer his showering questions. And it’s not even death that hurts: the betrayal! Because those who rejoiced in the light of the Christmas tree now pass by as if he never existed. For in pursuit of their momentary joys, they forget all the same about those who allow them to enjoy these pleasures, even by sacrificing themselves.

And the little pine, who for a short time could steal into the heart of a family miracle, light, happiness and love as a Christmas tree, now thrown away as garbage, left to his fate, drowning in gasoline fumes, is dying in infinite indifference, abandoned for good. His dying is gilded only by his memories: once he was a Christmas tree who stole happiness in the hearts for the celebration of light, of pure, heavenly  love…

  1. Jan., 2022., by J. W. Cassandra
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J. W. Cassandra

About the Author: J. W. Cassandra

I’m a teacher and a registered author either, at Artisjus as a writer and a poet in Hungary. I love forests, butterflies, flowers.


    1. Thank you. I’m glad that you like it. I was walking thereabouts in Budapest and saw the poor little pine tree abandoned. And all the time the idea was running in my mind till I finally wrote the story. As I see it we humans need celebrations, we need joy, we need hope – but we mustn’t destroy our environments irresponsibly and we must leave the same hope for the trees, for animals, as well.

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