There was, certainly, a certain something about trees. On certain days, when the moon was at a certain angle to her house, there was certainly something about the trees.
The word lovely was much overused by her neighbors.
"Such a lovely little woman, in such a lovely little house, in front of such a lovely little wood, with such a lovely little knack for storytelling."
She did not take a particular liking to the overuse of this word when she was being spoken of, but she was always most obliging to everyone, and put their own needs before her own, and so she complained not a bit about the loveliness, though it did bother her so.
There was a brook in the woods which was often mistaken to be a creek, but, indeed, it was not a creek, simply a brook. She never corrected the mistaken on this, however, for she was always so very obliging.
When she was quite a child indeed, quite young, so young she could not even speak, she began her strolls to that brook. She did find it very appealing, though her mother and father complained so over her wandering off on her own. She might have stopped, if only to oblige them, but she did seem to age so very quickly, and quite soon, before she could stop her strolls, she was old enough that her parents thought her strolls quite safe indeed, and in fact promoted them, for the sake of her health.
She never could recall the years that passed between when she first strolled and when she was able to stroll and oblige simultaneously once again. Her mother and father and her neighbors did indeed remember these years just as much as any other years, and often introduced to her a private joke, simply between her and themselves, which she could only pretend to laugh at, for she remembered it not at all.
It did not matter much at all, however, that she could not remember those certain years, for when they drew to a close, she began strolling again, and, other than being obliging, there was not much else she really cared to recall.
And so she was twelve when she strolled again. She would step off of her sweet little porch just when the moon was at a certain angle to her house, and she would lock her hands quite nicely behind her back as she walked off into the wood, quite politely. Everyone who saw her walk off in this manner was quite obliged, for it was such a very sweet sight, and she did so much enjoy being obliging.
She walked through all of the leaves and branches and mud and stones, and they all obliged her nice little clothes, bending away so that she might keep herself clean and not be lectured upon her return home- but she never really was lectured, for she always was so very obliging indeed.
And so it was that she walked quite easily to the little brook which was not a creek, almost everyday- even when it rained, she might, for the rain always obliged her, bending away so that she might not get herself wet.
Those who oblige are very often much obliged also.
When she did reach this little brook, a certain stone would sweep itself for her with a nice little breeze, which did not ruffle her hair, and she would sit on it and admire her surroundings.
And when it came about that there was a certain something about the trees, the wind obliged her very much. It puffed up her dress, keeping her slip down appropriately, and she floated like a flower on the breeze to the tops of the trees.
There she was taken by a boy who once obliged also to a world that belonged only to those who obliged. There they all scrubbed others' clothes and sang little riddles that no one but they themselves would ever be able to solve.
She went out to the brook every day until she reached the age of leaving. By then, her strolls were still considered healthy, and therefore permitted, but she must keep the truth of the certain trees to herself, for such an understanding as hers of what was real and true was not obliging to anyone except those who also had this understanding, which was not many people at all, certainly not her mother or father or neighbors.
The boy was very sober to hear that she must leave, but as he also was obliging, he did not press her to stay, instead giving her a simple touch of the wind and the water, by touching his lips to hers. She was connected to him, then, by all that is obliging, and she went on away from her house without a freedom of choosing a boy for herself from her peers.
This was fine with her, of course, because she was so very obliging, and so was he, and she would certainly oblige his promise, because he had obliged her desire.
She never could recall the years that passed between that last stroll and when she was able to stroll and oblige simultaneously once again. Her mother and father and her neighbors did indeed remember these years just as much as any other years, and often introduced to her a private joke, simply between her and themselves, which she could only pretend to laugh at, for she remembered it not at all.
It did not matter much at all, however, that she could not remember those certain years, for when they drew to a close, she began strolling again, and, other than being obliging, there was not much else she really cared to recall.
She obliged her mother and father by working at a bookstore in town, and soon enough opened her own little bookstore, and it was very nice indeed, and obliged everyone who entered it, no matter how tedious the book they might be searching for was.
She worked this way for many years, living above her shop and walking every night down to the brook in the woods behind her parent's house. She only sat on the clean little rock, however, during those years, and if she was taken up to the top of the trees, which she seldom was, the boy did not meet her there, and she only sat and looked over the treetops. She missed the boy remarkably, but she knew she would see him again, for they were promised to each other by the wind and the water, and the breeze touched her face whenever she sat on the trees, assuring her that she would be obliged, just as she obliged him.
Her mother and father passed away quite together, within a few months of each other. They were not too much pitied that they had no grandchildren, for they believed no child should ever be as sweet as their own had been, and they did not want to disappoint their daughter by believing so, even when introduced to their very own grandchildren.
By now she was old indeed, and she moved back into her parents' house, obligingly leaving the shop to the boy who seemed to love it so much. She rocked in her chair during the day, and told stories more true than even the children she told them to could know.
Every night, when the moon was at a certain angle to her house, she strolled to the brook in the woods behind her house, and all her neighbors were quite obliged by the sight, for they had not known her when she was a lovely child, but now she a lovely old woman, and it equalled in sweetness quite nicely.
The word lovely was much overused by these neighbors.
"Such a lovely little woman, in such a lovely little house, in front of such a lovely little wood, with such a lovely little knack for storytelling."
She did not take a particular liking to the overuse of this word when she was being spoken of, but she was always most obliging to everyone, and put their own needs before her own, and so she complained not a bit about the loveliness, though it did bother her so.
She came to a certain age when she felt herself quite tired, and she knew it was certainly her time to leave. And so, when the moon was at a certain angle to her house, she strolled, obliging her neighbors one last time, out to the brook in the woods behind her house.
She walked through all of the leaves and branches and mud and stones, and they all obliged her nice little clothes, bending away so that she might keep herself clean.
And so it was that she walked quite easily to the little brook which was not a creek- easily even though it rained, for the rain obliged her, bending away so that she might not get herself wet.
Those who oblige are very often much obliged also.
When she did reach this little brook, a certain stone swept itself for her with a nice little breeze, which did not ruffle her soft little hair, and she sat on it and admired her surroundings.
And when it came about that there was a certain something about the trees, the wind obliged her very much. It puffed up her nightdress, keeping her slip down appropriately, and her frail and obliging body floated like a flower on the breeze to the tops of the trees.
There she was met by a boy who once obliged also, and he renewed their promise, touching his sweet young lips to her frail old ones, and she was quite a little girl again, quite the same age as him. And now they had obliged all they could, and they were taken away to a place where the wind and the water and the plants danced and sang, and they danced and sang with them forever.
Believe me if you will, or if you will not, do not- I should not like to have you not obliged.
For a certain people can find a certain truth which will lead them to such a lovely little world, but the only way to reach it, of course, is to oblige.
© 2010
