My Childhood Guardian

Most of my childhood memories revolve around a clearing in the middle of the forest behind my
village. My friends and I often played games there among The Trees. Something about that place
was captivating—a serene sanctuary that felt almost enchanted. Perhaps it was the fresh, earthy
scent of the forest or the golden sunlight spilling through the canopy, creating a dance of light
and shadow around us.

Amidst all this, one thing captured our admiration the most: a grand tree standing majestically in
the center of the clearing where we played. Its trunk was so thick that even the ten of us, holding
hands, couldn’t form a circle around it. The girth of its roots was so massive that we could sit on
them comfortably as they protruded out of the soft ground. The fruits it bore were the sweetest
things I’ve ever tasted. We named it the ‘Magic Tree’. As children, we didn’t realize it, but
looking back, we had developed an emotional connection with The Tree. We had come to see it
as our friend and guardian angel.

The Magic Tree protected us when it rained, shielded us from the scorching summer sun, and fed
us when we were hungry. It was always there, waiting for us on both good days and bad. As we
grew up, we stopped coming to the forest to play. Yet, The Tree remained, standing steadfast,
waiting for someone to come and play like we used to. Though I visited less frequently, I still
made the occasional trip to see my old friend. In a life where everything seemed to change too
fast and too soon, The Tree was my only constant.

But little did I know that something would come along and snatch away this semblance of
stability. I received news that the ministry had finally devised a plan to cut down The Tree
without damaging the rest of the forest. According to them, The Tree was too valuable to be left
growing without serving a purpose for the village.

For the next two weeks, I didn’t leave The Tree’s side. I was waiting for them to come. I had
decided I would bargain with them to take other trees from the forest but leave this one alone.
Somehow, the authorities agreed. They decided to chop down twenty-five trees instead of this
one. I may have been selfish to protect a single tree in exchange for twenty-five, but if that’s
what it took, then so be it.

I sat through the entire night, solemnly listening to the distant mechanical sounds of chainsaws,
the loud thuds and booms of trees falling, the painful wails of the animals that lived in them, and
then the whirring sounds of machinery and trucks carrying the timber into the village.
Throughout the process, my eyes wouldn’t stop watering. An endless stream of tears made its
way out and onto the winding roots of The Tree I was sitting under.

Just after I heard the last of the noises of engines moving away, I felt a soft breeze on my left
cheek. It dried up my tears. The tree subtly shook itself, and a heart-shaped leaf fell into my
damp palms. I took it as The Tree's way of saying thank you and the forest trying to forgive me. I
got up from the root, walked over to The Tree trunk, and hugged it as much as I could. For the
first time in those two weeks, I openly sobbed under the comforting embrace of my childhood
friend.
The next morning, a tickle of morning sunshine over my eyelids awoke me. My eyes were still
crusty from crying the night before. I stretched and sat up, wanting to see how much damage had
been done to the forest. I climbed The Tree and perched on a branch high enough to survey the
entire forest. To my astonishment, there were no new patches of missing trees. It looked exactly
as it had two weeks ago.

Thinking I might have missed something, I climbed down and decided to explore the forest on
foot. Twenty minutes in, I had walked through almost the entire forest. Not a single chopped log
or disheveled patch of grass was in sight. The forest was as it had always been: tall trees with
colorful birds, little rodents scurrying about, and a couple of deer running freely, chewing on
grass. There was no hint of distress among the animals.

I was confused, perplexed even. I was sure what I heard the previous night wasn't a
hallucination. I had cried myself to sleep, for heaven’s sake. There was no way The Trees could
have grown back overnight.

For the first time, I returned home unhappy and confused from the forest. I had a proper meal at
home, the first in weeks, even though The Tree’s fruits had kept me satisfied. That night, when
my father returned from his office, he told us about how some boy had stopped them from
cutting down the old tree, so they had to compensate by cutting down many other trees instead.
He expressed his frustration and surprise at how all the wood they’d collected had turned into dry
rot overnight. They would now have to look for an alternative source of timber.

The following day, I returned to the clearing. As I approached, I saw the Magic Tree standing
there, more majestic than ever. Its branches seemed to reach out to me in a warm, welcoming
embrace. I placed my hand on its trunk, feeling the rough bark under my fingers, and whispered
my gratitude. The tree had not only protected itself but had somehow protected the entire forest.
The villagers may never understand what had happened, but I knew deep in my heart that the
Magic Tree had performed one last miracle for us all.

From that day on, I visited the clearing more often. The Magic Tree had become a symbol of
resilience, love, and the unbreakable bond between nature and those who respect it. Every time I
sat under its vast canopy, I felt a profound sense of peace and connection, as if The Tree was
sharing its ancient wisdom with me. And in those moments, I knew that the Magic Tree would
continue to stand tall, a guardian and friend, for generations to come.