The Rose Who Wanted To Be a Tree

In a beautiful forest full of oak trees, there was a rose who thought she was a tree. Every day, she would gaze at the towering oaks around her, and say to herself: “One day, I will grow as tall as the trees. My stem will turn into a trunk, my thorns will grow into branches, my petals will change into leaves, and I will be a tree.”

For a long time, the rose waited. She waited, and waited, and waited, until one day, she lost patience.

“Why am I not growing?” she screamed. “Why have I not grown as tall as the trees?  Why has my stem not turned into a trunk? Why have my thorns not grown into branches? Why have my petals not changed into leaves?”

A whiskered screech owl that had happened to be flying by perched next to her.

“I know what your problem is”. He said wisely. “You have not grown into a tree, because you are, in fact NOT a tree.” And he flew away.

The rose was so sad and disappointed, that she started to cry. Suddenly, there was a “pop”, and a beautiful fairy appeared. She had long, purple hair, and a blue dress that sparkled like the night sky, and in her hand, she held a crystal wand.

“What is wrong little rose?” asked the fairy sympathetically.

 “All my life, I have wanted to be a tree.” sobbed the rose. “But an owl told me that roses do not turn into trees.”

The fairy thought for a moment. “Well,” said the fairy. “There is ONE way I could help you. But you have to be ABSOLUTELY sure it is what you want.”

 The rose stopped crying. “I’m sure!” said the rose eagerly. “How can you help me?”

 “Well, it depends on how you define ‘help’.” Said the fairy.”

 “What are you going to do?” asked the rose.

 “If you really wish me to,” answered the fairy. “I could turn you into a tree.”

If the rose had not been rooted in the ground, she would have jumped for joy. “You really would?” squealed the rose with happiness. “You really would help me?”

“Like I said.” Said the fairy. “It depends how you define ‘help’. Maybe it seems that I am helping you now, but you may regret it later.”

But the rose was not listening. “Yes, yes. Now turn me into a tree!” said the rose impatiently, barely containing her excitement.

 “Very well.” Said the fairy skeptically. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The fairy brandished her crystal wand, pointing it at the rose, and sang:

“Turn the stem from thin to fat,

turn that to this, and this to that.

Make branches from the pointy thorns,

ensure this rose is not forlorn.

Give her a trunk and crisp, green leaves.

Turn this rose into a tree!”

There was a bright flash, and the rose began to grow.

She grew till she was very tall.

Her stem thickened into a wooden trunk.

Her thorns spread into strong branches.

Her petals transformed into leaves and acorns.

She was an oak tree.  

“Oh, my goodness.” She whispered. “My trunk is so strong, and my branches are so long, and my leaves are so beautiful. And the acorns! They look like little ornaments, hanging from my branches…”

The fairy was more uneasy then ever.

“Are you sure you want to stay like this forever?” she asked.

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” Said the rose (or rather, the oak). “Thank you for everything. You can go now.”

“Farewell then.” Said the fairy, slightly hurt by the oak’s manners. And she disappeared with a “pop”.

The oak, meanwhile, had made a pastime of admiring herself. She loved how her leaves swayed with the breeze, and her acorns dangled elegantly, and her branches shook with the wind. But it would have been much more fun if she could have let down her aching branches…

Come Autumn, her leaves began to turn orange, red and yellow. She was so beautiful the oak even forgot her tired branches.

One early Autumn morning, the oak awoke to a horrible sight. Her leaves were FALLING OFF!

Even worse, squirrels were stealing her beautiful acorns for the Winter.

By Winter, the oaks acorns had all been taken, her leaves had all fallen off, and her branches were bare. The oak was cold, shivering, and miserable. For the first time in her whole life, she longed to be a rose.

“Oh, why did I ever wish to be a tree?” wept the oak. “The fairy was right. It was foolish to want to be something else. I really do regret it, I really do. Oh, why didn’t I listen to the fairy?” her tears rolled down her trunk, and into her roots. Suddenly, there was a bright flash, and the oak was no longer a tree. She was in her original form. She was a rose.

The rose was overjoyed, but nether less confused.

“But… but… How can this be?” wondered the rose. “How have I become a rose once more?”

There was a “pop”, and again, the fairy appeared. She was smiling.

“You have returned to your original form.” She said. “Because the longing in your tears have a special magic, to be able to grant you want you really and truly want.”

“But what about before, when I wished to be a tree?” asked the rose. “Was I not longing for it enough?”

“There are several reasons why it did not work before.” Answered the fairy. “The first being that for the magic to work, the tear must sink into the roots. The second reason is that there are two kinds of longing. One is when you long for something you want but is not necessarily what is good for you. The second is when you long for something that you understand is what is right for you. The tear’s magic of longing only works for true longing." 

“Thank you so much, dear fairy, for helping me understand that.” Said the rose. “If I had not understood true longing, I would still be a tree, miserable and cold.”  

“Although,” continued the rose. “Could you make me warmer please?”

The End