I belong to the lucky spruces who could grow up close to their mothers. I'm really happy not to be swept away by the wind. I had a beautiful childhood. My mother really loved me and as a late child I was her all. She told me stories and we conversed about the matters of the universe. At night if I coudln't sleep, I listened to her twigs rustling in the wind and I calmed down. I admired her; she was so large, magnificent, and calm.

One morning everything was white when I woke up. All my branches and those of my mum and all other spruces. It was amazing. My mother called it snow, I called it white wonder. We got more and more of it every day. I was happy, but my mother got troubled. She told me that every year when the snow had fallen, bad people come to our wood and kill the baby spruces. I couldn't imagine that anybody could come to our peaceful forest and do anything like that. But it happened really. One day the bad people came. I heard my little friends screaming and their parents crying. The people came nearer and nearer, and cut me down, too. The last thing I remember is my mother crying my name.

When I recovered consciousness I was in a big garden with lots of other little spruces. Earlier I had never seen so many children together. We all were afraid because we didn't know what would happen, but we had a nice time together. I made friends with everybody. My closest friends were two spruces who said they were twins, because their seeds had fallen from the cone at the same time.

Every day a lot of people came into the garden and took spruces away. A grey-haired man chose me. I said goodbye to my friends and let myself be carried through the town. We came to a big house. I was very curious, but the man put me in a dark cellar and shut the door. Now I really felt afraid and homesick. It seemed like an eternity until he came back. Now he took me up to the flat and stood me in water. I breathed a little more easily. After a while he brought big cartons and hung colorful knick-knacks on my twigs. I pricked him repeatedly with my needles but he didn't mind it. After he finished, he brought other cartons and laid them at my feet. Then he rang the bell and three children came into the room with their mother. They were so happy! They said, "Oh, Daddy, what a lovely tree!" and "Merry Christmas!" They looked up to me and smiled. It made me really feel all warm inside!

They sang Christmas songs and opened the cartons. Especially the children were glad. They were sitting on the carpet and playing with their new toys the whole evening.

Next day guests came and they were sitting in front of me. I was very proud when somebody said I was beautiful. The children often came to me and ate the chocolates hanging from my twigs. I was looking at them when they were playing and having fun. I saw couples hand in hand and the old grandmother hobbling with her stick. The human world was very interesting.

After a few days the grey-haired man came to me with the cartons and took his knick-knacks from my twigs. Then he carried me out of the house.

Since then I have been living on the rubbish heap. I feel miserable. I'm nothing but branches and twigs. I can't speak with anybody--although there is a silver fir within earshot. He is already old and stone deaf.

So I meditate all day about the matters of the universe and at night if I can't sleep, I listen to his twigs rustling in the wind. I think of my mother and of our peaceful wood and I calm down.

by Krisztina Wágner