Old Growth New Growth

The smaller beings held tightly to the vast, far-reaching influence of the Guardian overlooking the forest. Its power, once a seemingly inexhaustible reservoir, was now being gradually drained by the many creatures that depended upon it. She gave willingly, her energy flowing into each leaf, root, and tiny heart, cultivating a bountiful sanctuary for any who sought nurturement.

She, too, had started as a small sapling fighting to make her way in the world. It was no different now, the same struggle for every bit of sun and rain and air that she had long conquered was still there for the young ones.

She, too, had once been a small sapling, struggling to carve her place in the world. She remembered the fight for every drop of rain, every glimmer of sunlight, every breath of air—a battle she had long since won. Now, as she watched the young ones beneath her branches face the same struggles, a gentle ache rose. It was the same old fight, one she knew so well, and though her roots ran deep and her limbs reached high, she understood each of their struggles as if they were her own.

Her boughs and leaves reached miles in all directions, forming a vast canopy of protection. She never fully blocked the sun but softened its fierce rays, offering just the right light for those below to grow, allowing them to reach for new heights without fear of burning. A pillar of strength, her trunk was thicker than a river, rising from the ground as if the earth itself had reached out to touch the sky. She stood towering, a fortress of wood shielding her hundreds, thousands, of children from the winds of time.

But things were changing. Where once leaves stood proud, they now shied back in silence. Where once branches soared tall amidst the elements, they now hung low, weary and worn. Where once wood inspired strength, now bark withered and fell in brittle pieces at her base. A quiet transformation was taking place—one that reflected the inevitable passing of time.



The seasons drifted by, blending into one another, their passage marked by a monotonous rhythm. Each cycle, once a harbinger of change, cultivation, and growth, was now merely an echo of its past. Bark withered and fell, leaving behind a singular, smooth remnant of her once-majestic trunk. Twisted arms ceased in their tracks and sprouting twigs fixed in place. Until the Guardian’s final leaves curled up and were carried away by the wind, a final farewell.

The Guardian was no longer. The canopy that had shielded against dark clouds and rain had vanished, and the invisible barrier that had defied countless storms now lingered only as a memory, frozen in time. All that endured was silence and shadows—a solemn testament to what had been.

The crack of thunder was the only warning preceding the strike. There was no one left to listen, no one to heed the warning. The Guardian, reflecting the fate of the forest surrounding it, was split down the middle, cast down. The surrounding land, too frail to carry the weight, fractured under the burden they bore.

A stillness propagating outwards held the forest in a stasis. Cold winds swept through splintered limbs, while snow shrouded the ground like a heavy blanket. Days grew shorter and nights stretched on. Seasons changed and turned a corner and daylight lengthened. Warm breezes stirred, the ground thawed, and spring came.

One clear morning, from the remains of the Guardian, a tender sprout emerged. Hopeful and reaching for the warmth of the sun, a delicate green stem pushed into the crisp spring air, heralding a new beginning. In place of its predecessor, a young seedling took root.

Cautiously, the roots stretched outward, settling into the soil. She began to expand, into fresh territory, into the gentle warmth above, and into the rich earth below where she used to live. She held tight to the promise of life that is shared between the old and the new.



670 words
Oct 9, 2024
all-stories