Open Writing

I went into the spare room at the back of the house. There was a closed door at the far end marked ‘DON’T OPEN.’ Intrigued, I opened it and walked through – into a wood.

It all seemed strange. I’d not been here before.

A young tree with low branches stood in my way. I stepped aside to walk around it.

The tree stepped aside, too. “No you don’t,” it said. “You haven’t been made welcome.”

I stared at the tree.

“Don’t stare,” it said. “That’s confronting. A dog might bite you.”

“You are not a dog,” I said.

“How little you know,” the tree replied. “I’m actually a dogwood. I watch this wood and this boundary is part of my care.”

“What a pity,” I said. “If you had been a dog rose, I’d have plucked your flower and worn it close to my heart.”

“You wouldn’t have plucked it without my permission,” the tree said. “I’d have given you a nasty spike in the finger.”

“Truce, sir tree,” I cried.

“Wrong again,” said the tree. “I’m a girl.”

“A thousand pardons, lady,” I said. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Richard.”

“Rosanna,” the tree replied.

I reached out to shake her limb.

“No,” she rustled. “I don’t know where you’ve been with that hand. You must wash it first.”

“How do I do that?”

“We always grow near water. I’ll shake off a couple of spare leaves. You must pick them up and go to the little creek to your left.

“My leaves in water will set up a saponification process and you can lave your hands. But don’t leave the leaves in the water. They are toxic to fish in the short term.”

I did what I was told. I know enough not to duel with a toxic female, of any species.

I walked back to Rosanna and asked where I was.

“Treeland,” she said. “Where the air is fit to breathe and the water good to drink.”

“The trees contribute to that state of affairs, don’t they?” I said.

“We most certainly do. And we don’t need any axe murderers here.”

The whole wood seemed to shudder.

I looked around and felt the other trees were all listening carefully to our conversation.

“I thought you might have been more concerned about fire,” I said.

Rosanna rustled her leaves, a curiously merry sound. I realized she was laughing at me. “What a strange creature you are,” she said. “Fire is a natural part of life. Without it, some of my brothers and sisters would never germinate.

“It’s very useful when there’s been a big build up of rubbish over the years, which won’t break down into compost. And it’s a sovereign remedy for spitfires.”

“Spitfires?” I echoed.

Rosanna rustled, a hiss. “Those nasty, spiteful little caterpillars, which feast on young trees. A nice, scorching little fire gets rid of them faster than you can say spring showers.”

I pondered this. “What about wildfires? Don’t they do a lot of damage?”

“Nothing’s ever truly good, or truly evil, is it?” said the tree. “We do recover from wildfires. There’s much useful nutrient in the ashes and time is a great healer.”

“Rosanna, I love trees. I love running through them at dawn. Sometimes I feel they are whispering to me, and I often feel that they like me being among them.”

“That is excellent news and it explains something that has been puzzling me,” she said.

“Normally, there’s a ward on Treeland, which bars blow-in humans. Have you had breakfast?”

I said I hadn’t and what had she in mind?

She said a family of Aborigines had passed this way some hours ago. They had soaked seeds in the creek, pounded them into flour and made some damper bread as an offering to the tree spirits. She pointed out the loaf of damper sitting on a rock alter.

“Take some of that damper to the young maple across the glade,” she said.

“There is a small incision in his bark. Widen it slightly and you’ll get a flow of maple syrup, which you can spread on your damper. Food like that will give you strength.”

“Won’t the tree spirits mind?” I said.

“Course not,” she said. “I’m the tree spirit here.”

I asked her what I would drink.

She said there had been a shower in the night and clean water had collected in a crotch in the big gum tree nearby. If I took a hollow stem of grass, I could reach into the clear pool and have all the drink I needed.

Rosanna continued, “You’ll find it richly refreshing. Give the tree a little hug before you take his offering. His name is Blue. He doesn’t get a lot of hugs. And try not to drink too much, or it will make you grow. Certainly, it will curl your hair.”

It was a lovely breakfast and after I had drunk the water, I was overcome by a sleepy feeling – maybe too much sugar in that maple syrup. I lay down in Rosanna’s shade and passed out, listening to her voice in my head singing a charming lullaby, the song of the creek her accompaniment.

When I awoke, I was in bed back in the house. I looked at my watch – time for breakfast. Strange, I didn’t feel hungry. I rose, glimpsed myself in the mirror and – surprise, surprise. I’ve never looked so well. My hair was thicker and curlier than ever.