The Crow Tree

The Crow Tree

On the day that white turned to green and that misery of snow was replaced by the life of spring, a girl was walking without shoes. Her ankles were dirtied and the soles of her feet were hard from work. Her eyes held a surreal calmness that belonged to a woman wizened with age and experience, yet her face had no creases or wrinkles. As she walked, the gentle breeze licked at her skin and blew her charcoal hair from her shoulders. She walked alone, her path random and unmade. Her trail led away from her home and towards the wood, damp with the new season. After climbing to the entrance of the dark wood, the girl turned to look down upon her home. In her eyes she looked upon the life she knew with a kind of sadness that could only be recognized as a farewell. The chimney was not spilling smoke, the sounds of chopping wood could not be heard. No signs of life came from the small house, and so the girl could no longer call the place home. The sadness carried in her eyes still, she turned round again and ventured into the wood.

She walked slowly, the new grass crushed underfoot as she went. She did not worry about direction, as she knew no one would search for her. The wood was dark, but slivers of sun squirmed their way through the thick treetops. The girl looked upon the trees that grew around her like the fingers of giants, buried deep into the soil. Some grew so high that she could not see their branches, and others bent like old men. All, though, were the same to the girl. She passed by them without a second glance, searching for what only her wise eyes hungered for. She trudged on tirelessly through the wood, continuing when the sun crawled towards her feet and its warmth wrapped itself around her fingers. She passed through the wood and kept walking as the spring strengthened. A butterfly, its wings a dark scarlet, fluttered by the girl, its wings see through in the sunlight. She did not observe it, but swatted it away as though it was a fly. She had no time for petty insects.

The girl climbed a hill that sloped sharply upwards, but she did not seem to mind the struggle. Her bare feet slipped several times on the frost-encrusted earth, but each time she picked herself up and kept onwards with her journey. Her eyes finally strayed onto something that held her attention, and she walked immediately towards it. It was a tree, but not like the ones she saw in the wood. It held the same bark, the same leaves, the same shape, yet everything about it was different. It was only when the girl arrived at the tree's roots did she stop.

Hanging from the branches were ropes, the ends cut and frayed. The ropes had been tied to the upper branches of the tree and the ends trailed down to several feet above the ground. Most of the chopped ends fell level to the girl's eyes. She stood with her head tipped back, squinting at the ropes that hung above her ominously. On the bottom branch, sitting without a companion, was a crow. Its black plumage glistened in the sun, and it watched the girl with its intelligent eyes. It sat upon a rope that was thinned by time, and appeared to be the weakest of the ropes. The girl sat upon the cold earth, never taking her saddened eyes off of the bird.

"What is this tree?" the girl asked the crow, her voice hoarse from disuse. "What are these ropes?"
"It is my tree." The crow replied, its eyes glinting greedily. "And you would be wise to leave."
"But I found my way to it," the girl protested. "And it is the only tree I found my way to."
The crow ruffled its feathers indifferently. "Be that as it may, small girl, this tree does not belong to you."
"I am on the ground, not your tree." The girl argued. She had only just arrived at the tree, yet she had planted herself there, and was not ready to leave. "Please, tell me what these ropes are."
"Look into these branches." The crow said.
The girl looked. "What of them?"
The crow struck the rope with its beak. "No," it said irritably. "Look beyond the wood and the leaves."
The girl stared at the tree, seeing nothing but the wood and the leaves. As she stared, she could only think of her home that was not a home. The bitterness she felt sat on her tongue like some rotten meat, and her eyes beheld that same melancholy glow.
"That is it." The crow said in approval.
The girl said nothing, but continued to watch the tree. Slowly the souls of the lost appeared, sitting on the branches and looking down on the girl sadly.
"What are they?"
"The bearers of these ropes." The crow said. It swelled its chest pompously. "They belong to me, because they belong to this tree."
"I see," the girl replied. "What use to you are these souls? Why not let the ropes fall and let their bearers fly?"
The crow fluttered to another branch, closer to the girl. Its eyes glinted evilly, yet the girl was not swayed. "They belong to me because they belong to this tree, and this tree belongs to me. They have no value to me, yet they are my property. It will always be this way."
"It is a cruel way." The girl said.
"It is my way." The crow hissed.

The girl stayed by the crow's tree throughout the day, feeling the eyes of the souls watching her. They did not speak; they only sat upon their ropes. Yet, the girl knew their pain well. The crow skipped from branch to branch, screaming at the girl for her to leave. The girl could stand the cries for only so long, sitting on the new spring earth and staring at the landscape beyond the hillside.
"Go, girl, go." The crow screamed, waving its black wings loudly against the branch it perched on. "Leave this place and don't come back." It berated her with its words, crushing her with insults that grew harsher as the day went on.
"Not until you free these souls, you evil thing." The girl replied sullenly, glancing over her shoulder at the poor imprisoned souls.
"Never, you craven fool, don't you understand that?" the crow mocked.
The girl had grown sick of the evil crow. She stood and patted the dry earth from her ratty dress, and from the dirt she picked up a round stone. She turned to the crow and hurled the stone at it. The bird cried out and jumped backwards, but the rock found it. The girl watched in grim satisfaction as the black plumaged bird fell to the earth with a dull thud.
"A dead thign owns nothing," the girl said unhappily, and looked up at the observing souls. "You're free now, you see? This evil creature doesn't own you."
One of the souls, a thin woman, slid from her rope and landed lightly by the girl's side. "I was hung to this tree by this rope, and kept here by that crow without a murder. I thank you, dear child without a home." She floated into the sprind air, becoming a pale moth. The girl looked up and saw a hundred white moths, floating weightlessly into the sky. The girl dropped to her knees and wept, watching miserably as the souls left their world. Among them were two that glowed brighter than the others. The girl bawled as her parents left her in the world of the living.

The girl sat by the tree until the sun was setting in the west, and watched in silence as the last of the moths danced into the sky. She was alone, actually alone, but in a way, she was happier. They took her parents without a word and displayed them on the branches. She dared not come to the tree, in fear of seeing them. But, without a true home, she had nowhere else to move but ahead.
She had nowhere to move but forward.