I'd Like To Be a Tree [Collaboration With MidnightDancer]
I’ve always liked trees.
Some are tall and strong, and others are shorter. Some bear fruits, others bear nuts, and still others bear nothing but beautiful leaves. Regardless of breed, they all dig deeply into the rich soil, twining their roots with their neighbors, and growing up towards a sky they can’t quite reach. I guess… I guess they’re a lot like ponies, in a way.
Laying cradled by the heart of this willow tree, shielded from the world by the long and graceful foliage, I feel at peace. Often I’ll bring up a book with me, or perhaps a calm cup of tea. You wouldn’t think it, but the bark is almost… snuggly.
Momma loved trees, too. She lived here on the ground for a long time, and I can almost hear her talk when the wind moves through the fronds of this willow tree. A gentle breeze that barely rustles the branches is her laugh, while the stronger fall winds are her quiet teaching voice. The gales, the tempests that come in early spring and rock the boughs with frightening ferocity--that is when she is angry, moving to protect the ponies and animals she loves.
She is quiet, now. The light filters through the leaves peacefully, leaving specks of green and white light to dance across my hooves as I lay happily on this branch. There is nowhere in the world I like better than here, in the branches of my mother as we sway together with the wind.
They say that mares and their foals have a special connection. Mrs. Cake, down at Sugarcube Corner, swears that she can feel her foal’s needs and emotions. That sometimes, she wakes up from a dead sleep at three in the morning, and finds that her filly is having a nightmare. Or she’ll suddenly feel the extreme need to check on them during naptime, and finds her colt flying dangerously close to the ceiling. I know, it sounds so strange, but I think it might be true.
When I am at my saddest, my mother rocks me gently in her branches and whispers to me with the wind. When I am frightened, she shelters me from the world with thick green fronds. And when I am angry, she holds me soothingly; the breeze carrying stories from my foalhood back to bear, and I feel my anger slip away with it. The best part is, I never even have to say a word. Mothers just know.
I remember all those years ago. I was just a little filly then, no bigger than the branches that I now lay nestled in. I remember her soothing voice. Those comforting words effortlessly blew away my fears, filling the hollows of my soul with love instead of fright. It was my first day going to school at Cloudsdale, and I had been so nervous… butterflies beat a panicked cadence against my stomach, and a feeling of undying dread was sinking in to me. What if the other ponies didn’t like me? What if I didn’t fit in? What if I did something wrong, and ponies made fun of me?
With one simple gesture and just a few kind words, the butterflies flew away. I remember it as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. “Fluttershy,” my mother had said, leaning down to look me at eye level. She embraced my body, which was still shivering with fear and apprehension, and spoke as softly as the wind that whistles through a lonely night. “Fluttershy. You have nothing to be afraid of. You are the sweetest, most caring pony in all of Cloudsdale.” I remember her lifting my head up and brushing my face off, smiling sweetly at me. “Sometimes you may be nervous, or you may get scared. You have to remember though. You can never succeed if you don’t try. As long as you do your best, and try to be a good pony, then ponies will love you.”
I knew it was something that every mother said to their child, but that warm, smiling face gave me a sense of hope and meaning behind the words. I believed her. I trusted her completely. I remember spending the rest of the school day, just mulling over what she had said in my mind. Throughout the whole day, I was nervous… but I wasn’t afraid. That made all the difference in the world. When I came home that day, she was so proud of me. That beaming smile on her face filled me with a sense of warmth and accomplishment that outmatched even the sun itself.
My mother… She always knew just what to say. Whether it was nervousness for some upcoming project, or just a fear of some deadly monster lurking in my closet, she was right there with me, supporting me with all her might. Oh Celestia, the night I went crawling to my mother’s bedroom whimpering about a monster in the closet was something I’ll never forget.
My eyes were bloodshot and watery, the tears freely flowing like tiny rivers across my face, and my voice cracking and shaking with every other word. I was terrified, and fled to my mother’s room as fast as my tiny hooves would take me. It must have been the dead of night--the moon was well on its journey to the other end of the horizon. But my mother, with her bleary eyes and mussed mane, didn’t just tell me to go back to bed and tell me to deal with it like any other parent would have.
No. She got up and followed me to my room, asking me questions about the ‘monster’ the entire time. I could see by her slow, lumbering walk that she was exhausted. Her face was sagging a bit, and there were dark circles under her eyes, but she led the way to my room, as vigilant and observant as a hawk protecting her young. She turned on the light and painstakingly checked every inch of it. She flipped every pocket of my clothes inside out, moved all of my toys, and even checked the top shelf.
I’ll never forget what happened next. She walked to my bed, hooves heavy on the wooden floor of my room, and a genuine smile appeared under those exhausted azure eyes. Nuzzling me gently in that way she always did, she hopped up beside me on my bed and laid a downy, melon-colored wing across my tummy. I snuggled up to her, letting her warmth envelop me and banish the last vestiges of foalish terror from my soul, the chill of the unknown replaced with the deep love of the known. Sleepy though she was, she looked down at me, still with that little smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Fluttershy,” she said, “you cannot be ruled so by your fears.”
“But Momma,” I began, “the dark is scary, and sometimes I hear things move…”
“Perhaps a mouse, lost on his way back to his own house. Maybe an owl, perching in our eaves for shelter. Maybe the wind, beating a tree against your window to make music for itself.” She pulled me closer, pecking me on the forehead. “My little Flutters, consider that the world is not scary. Consider instead that it is beautiful, in its own way, to each thing.”
It took a long time, but eventually I began to understand. Even now, I’m just now beginning to realize the true meaning of what she meant. I have things now that I never did before, and I can see everything clearer. It’s like a wave of oil was wiped off of the lense that was my perception of the world. The beauty in nature… I can see it in the way the birds chirp, in the way that the squirrels chase each other around, and I can see it in the way that the mice scurry and squeak.
I have friends now too. Each of them is beautiful in their own special way. No one of them is the same, and they all work together to complete a circuit, which I am an integral part of. But I wouldn’t have anything if it weren’t for her, if I didn’t remember her words… Everything is beautiful in its own way. That’s true for everypony. Even me.
I learned too, that some things in this world are of a terrible beauty instead of a happy one.
As I left foalhood and ventured into being a teenager, I noticed that Momma would grow tired very quickly. She needed to rest more, and rarely flew anywhere if she could help it. I was okay with that--I was a big filly, after all, and could fly myself home from school. Sometimes she was too tired to cook dinner, so I would do it with her. She would sit at the kitchen table, blue eyes tracking my movements with a small smile on her lips. Encouraging me, she rested while I cooked, learning all the new dishes I know and love today.
I only realized something was wrong when Momma tore her favorite dress while cleaning her closet, and didn’t have the energy to get off the floor and fix it. It was a lovely thing, a happy yellow just like my coat, dotted with embroidered posies. She adored it. So I did it for her, sloppy stitches not even close to the refined work I can do now. She held me, and thanked me, and for the first time, she cried on me. I put her to bed that night, as she did for me so many times as a foal.
As the seasons passed, winter turned to spring, bringing with it the joyous rebirth of the Earth. Momma couldn’t help with the wrap-up, opting instead to sit with me outside our little cottage, and speak plainly to me. To this day, I think it was the best and most important thing she could have done for both of us.
“Fluttershy,” she began as she always did, grabbing my attention from the flocks of pegasi bringing the birds home. “My dear child. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I am very sick.”
I just nodded. I had noticed.
“I tried going to the doctors in town while you were at school. It’s been months of testing, but…” She trailed off, pulling me closer with her hooves as though afraid I would flit away. The hard stone in my stomach sank deeper, my worst fears being confirmed. “They can’t do anything for me, Flutters. I’m so sorry.”
I thought as hard as I could. I knew ponies died. All animals did. I had seen so many generations of bunnies and mice go by in my caretaking, and I knew, logically, that it was a normal and natural thing.
That did nothing to stem my flow of tears. “H-How long, Momma?”
She bowed her head, hooves holding me tighter. “Until the end of summer, we hope.” We sat like that for awhile, Momma rocking me as she had so many times before as I snuggled up into her embrace. With her wings sheltering me from the world, I cried a few tears. I tried not to--Momma needed me to be strong.
After a time, she rose to her hooves shakily, reaching a wing out to me in both love and a request for support. I gave it wordlessly, and we walked along the path to Whitetail Woods together, not too far from the cottage. It was slow going, but Momma insisted, and the sights and smells of spring permeated my senses finally. I thought that maybe, fate would issue a reprieve to my mother. Maybe they’d come up with some really good spell that could fix whatever was wrong, whatever ‘cancer’ was. Unicorn doctors came up with new cures all the time, surely it was only a matter of time…
My thoughts were broken off as we came upon a small, abandoned home in the wood. The combination of hot sunlight through the day and carelessly scattered campfire remains had set the shack ablaze. We stood together, even as other pegasi flew in to dump rainwater on it. Leaning against her, enraptured, I watched the fire engulf and eat at every bit of structure and support the home had; until with a shudder, it came collapsing to the ground in a flurry of sparks and flame.
Momma said she wanted to go home after that. I agreed. And on the way back, all I could think was that the fire, even in its destruction, was beautiful. I remembered that moment for a long time afterwards, the image burned into my mind.
Days went by. Then weeks. I watched in helpless despair as my mother slowly grew weaker and weaker. Her steps became shakier. She was in pain all of the time. When I looked into her eyes, I could still see a small spark of fire and passion burning within, fighting against the hoof that she had been dealt. In the end though… In the end, nature claims us all, and its righteous, terrifying beauty and majesty bring our lives to an end.
I had tucked her in that one last time, carrying her shaking, emaciated form to her bedroom. Her coat, once a vibrant melon color, had faded substantially. Her wings stayed pinned firmly to her sides as I pulled back the covers, placing her gently down and covering her form with her quilt. Even in the summer’s heat, she would freeze without it. I kissed her on the forehead, as she did to me as a foal, and did the best thing I could.
“I love you, Momma. So much.”
“I love you too, my little Fluttershy. You’re going to be amazing, I just know it.” She held my hoof in hers weakly, and despite her strong words I could see the fear blazing just behind her loving eyes.
“Goodnight, Momma.”
“Goodnight, Fluttershy.” Her eyes slid closed, and I crept to my own small bedroom to sleep.
Hours later, I woke with a start. A deep, yearning ache had centered itself in my chest, pulling at me, and my tears flowed freely as I knew what this emptiness meant. Sobbing, caring no longer for appearing strong, I shuffled to my mother’s bedroom. She laid on her side, as she always slept, her face finally free of the pain lines etched into it from this year of illness and pain. Twenty years had seemed to drop from her face, and gaunt and skinny as it was, she looked more like the mare that raised me then than she had in a very long time.
Even then, as I stroked my dead mother’s mane reverently from her face and kissed her one last time, I could see the absolute beauty in the loss of her pain. Nature may seem cruel, and we rail against it as much as we can when things like that happen. All I can think is that there would have been no greater gift I could give my mother than to take away her pain, and Nature did that for me.
I don’t remember a whole lot about what happened after that. All I remember is the funeral. My mother, being the mare that she was, had made lots of friends during her lifetime. Ponies young and old stood, gathered in the small clearing, crying and holding each other. I stood alone though. I felt alone, even though I was surrounded by family and friends. The one mare that had ever understood me, and the one pony that understood me was being lowered into the ground.
There was no casket. My mother had always been of the belief that it was her duty to give back to nature when she died. She’d asked to be buried without a casket, so that the plants and life around her could ‘recycle’ her, and she could become one with nature once again. Even nature itself seemed to show my mother respect. There were no clouds in the sky, and there was no wind, just the sun shining down on my mother’s body, the still wind saluting her and wishing her a grand departure to the after-world.
Then I remember giving the eulogies. Everypony went up to the front of the crowd, crying and sputtering, trying their best to describe what my mother had been like. None of them could do it though. None of them knew her like I did. I’d always been a shy filly, but in that instance there was no time for thinking. There was no time for shyness. I needed to tell her what she meant to me, even though she could no longer hear my words.
For what seemed like hours, I gave my speech, describing my memories of my mother. Everything from scraped knees, to failed projects, to nights of tears spent being cradled in her arms… I left nothing out. I couldn’t. My emotions spilled out in a torrent of pain and love as I cried and screamed, yelled and whispered, and everypony stared at me with total attention. The one time in my life that I’d been a commanding presence. A distraught, lost filly at her mother’s own funeral.
To this day, I can’t remember exactly what I said. The emotion flowed through me until nothing was left, and I was just a numb, quivering, emotionless shell that had to be carried away from my mother’s side so that they could finally cover her. I felt dead inside as I watched the dirt pour over her lifeless body, blocking her from my sight. This was the end. This was finality.
I was left her little cottage on the border of the Everfree. It was suggested that I move to Cloudsdale and live with a family there. I calmly suggested that they could place their suggestion in a very uncomfortable place. They left me alone, after that.
I spent the summer and fall tending to my animal friends, helping them prepare for the cold winter ahead. As I headed to the bunny warren one day, a basket full of fresh carrots dangling from my mouth, I passed my mother’s grave. I bowed my head in respect, and when I opened my eyes, I saw something amazing.
A sapling was growing on my mother’s grave. It was just a tiny thing, and I couldn’t even tell what kind of tree it would be. But it was beautiful, and in a way, it was hers.
All through the fall and winter, I cared for the sapling--feeding it, watering it, making sure it would grow strong. I was afraid it would die over the winter… it had sprouted so late, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if it didn’t… so imagine my surprise when it did.
Over the years, the tree and I grew together, both of us weathering the harsh realities of life and becoming stronger for it. Momma’s tree grew tall and strong, and I really believe it was some kind of magic that made it grow like it did. It was… it was truly every inch my mother. Tall, strong, calm, and comforting. It stood in my yard like a sentinel, watching over both she and I.
When it was big enough, I went out, and placed a hoof on the bark. The calm that washed over me warmed me more than the springtime sunlight that filtered through its leaves, and the wind blew through it, seeming to laugh. Come, Fluttershy, and sit with me awhile.
So I did. I still do. I feel my mother in every sway of the branches, every time I touch the bark, every time my hooves hit the soil below it.
And sometimes, I think I’d like to be a tree, too.
