Deep in the forest stood a grove of seven ancient trees. For a long, long time they had grown there in peace—sheltering the birds and animals, blooming and bearing fruit, dropping their seeds—cycling life over and over again.
Then one day there came an ominous whispering in the leaves. It came from far away—from the edge of the forest. The trees were being cut down—not just one or two to shelter or to warm the people there, but hundreds! Hundreds of trees were being cut leaving a great, barren wound in the Earth.
The trees of the grove shuddered to hear this terrible news. They whispered among themselves of the awful destruction. Then a great wind came causing them to twist and shake—their branches and limbs rubbing against each other sounded like wails and shrieks of terror.
After the wind passed, the trees stood still and listened. Yes, they heard it—the terrible sound of buzzing saws—and so they wept. Now when trees weep a strange thing happens—they take on human form. So the seven ancient trees of the grove became seven beautiful maidens. They stood together in a circle—their arms around each other as their branches had been and they began to speak.
“Something must be done!”
“We must help our sisters!”
“This destruction must stop!”
“But how?”
“What are we to do?”
“How can we help?”
Then the oldest and wisest of the maidens stepped forward.
“We must leave the grove,” she said. “We must go to the village and stop the men from cutting down the trees.”
“How?” asked her sisters.
“We are beautiful, are we not?” she replied.
“Yes, but how can that help?” they wondered.
“Ah,” she murmured. “You do not know the hearts of men.”
“What do you mean?” they asked.
“There is one thing that men love more than food or shelter,” she answered.
“What is that?” they asked.
“A beautiful woman,” she replied.
“Ah,” sighed the maidens nodding their heads. “Ah hah!”
So the seven beautiful maidens left the grove and traveled many, many miles to the village. And as they walked, they devised a plan.
When they arrived, it was midnight. A full moon shone above them. The huts of the woodsmen were silent, save for a few snores. So the maidens gathered in a circle and began to sing. The song was like the sighing of trees, the gurgle of brooks, and the twittering of birds. It entered the dreams of the sleeping men.
One by one seven men came out of their huts rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Their mouths fell open in astonishment, for there in the middle of the camp stood seven of the most beautiful women they had ever seen. And the song—the song was so sweet and magical—unlike anything they had ever heard. It reminded them of their childhoods when they had laughed and played in the forest surrounding the village.
Then one by one the maidens turned, and each stood before one of the men. They stared at the men with their beautiful, dark, deep, forest eyes until their stares bore holes right through to where the men’s hearts lay pounding. One by one the women took the men by the hands and led them into the moonlit forest.
In the morning the men awoke and found themselves lying under the trees on soft beds of emerald moss. The sun was just rising and the birds were singing merrily, but the women were gone. The men looked at each other.
“Did you...?”
“Did you dream...?”
“Did we really...?”
“How did we get here?”
“What happened?”
“Where are they?”
Then one of the men noticed the prints of small, bare feet in the soft moss.
“Yes, they were here! It wasn’t a dream. Here are their tracks!” he cried.
The other men ran over to see, and sure enough there were the clear footprints of the seven maidens—leading deep into the forest.
“Let’s follow them!”
“Yes, we must find them!”
“I have never known a woman so beautiful...”
So all that day the men followed the tracks, until at last, just as the moon was rising, they came to the grove. And there, dancing in a circle, were the seven maidens.
The men were overjoyed and ran toward the women as fast as they could. But just as they reached the dancers, the maidens began to laugh. And a strange thing happened when they laughed—they turned back into trees.
Each of the astounded men found that, instead of a beautiful woman, he was hugging a tree! All seven fell to the ground in shock and amazement. Then they heard a chorus of voices like the whispering of leaves say:
“Now you know the truth that we
Were each one nothing but a tree.
The beauty that you loved so much
Is leaf and bark and root and such.
And if you want us to return
This is the lesson you must learn--
Cut not our sisters, let them be
For maidens dwell in every tree.”
The seven men stood in silence as the truth of what they had seen and heard sank deep into their hearts. Then, as the tree maidens bore silent witness, they took together a solemn oath never to cut another tree and instead to become guardians of the forest. This pledge they took willingly and upheld it all of their days.
And for the trueness of their hearts they were rewarded. For every full moon the maidens came to them in dreams. And in the sacred grove they sang and danced together as men and maidens do when all is right with the world.
Then one day there came an ominous whispering in the leaves. It came from far away—from the edge of the forest. The trees were being cut down—not just one or two to shelter or to warm the people there, but hundreds! Hundreds of trees were being cut leaving a great, barren wound in the Earth.
The trees of the grove shuddered to hear this terrible news. They whispered among themselves of the awful destruction. Then a great wind came causing them to twist and shake—their branches and limbs rubbing against each other sounded like wails and shrieks of terror.
After the wind passed, the trees stood still and listened. Yes, they heard it—the terrible sound of buzzing saws—and so they wept. Now when trees weep a strange thing happens—they take on human form. So the seven ancient trees of the grove became seven beautiful maidens. They stood together in a circle—their arms around each other as their branches had been and they began to speak.
“Something must be done!”
“We must help our sisters!”
“This destruction must stop!”
“But how?”
“What are we to do?”
“How can we help?”
Then the oldest and wisest of the maidens stepped forward.
“We must leave the grove,” she said. “We must go to the village and stop the men from cutting down the trees.”
“How?” asked her sisters.
“We are beautiful, are we not?” she replied.
“Yes, but how can that help?” they wondered.
“Ah,” she murmured. “You do not know the hearts of men.”
“What do you mean?” they asked.
“There is one thing that men love more than food or shelter,” she answered.
“What is that?” they asked.
“A beautiful woman,” she replied.
“Ah,” sighed the maidens nodding their heads. “Ah hah!”
So the seven beautiful maidens left the grove and traveled many, many miles to the village. And as they walked, they devised a plan.
When they arrived, it was midnight. A full moon shone above them. The huts of the woodsmen were silent, save for a few snores. So the maidens gathered in a circle and began to sing. The song was like the sighing of trees, the gurgle of brooks, and the twittering of birds. It entered the dreams of the sleeping men.
One by one seven men came out of their huts rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Their mouths fell open in astonishment, for there in the middle of the camp stood seven of the most beautiful women they had ever seen. And the song—the song was so sweet and magical—unlike anything they had ever heard. It reminded them of their childhoods when they had laughed and played in the forest surrounding the village.
Then one by one the maidens turned, and each stood before one of the men. They stared at the men with their beautiful, dark, deep, forest eyes until their stares bore holes right through to where the men’s hearts lay pounding. One by one the women took the men by the hands and led them into the moonlit forest.
In the morning the men awoke and found themselves lying under the trees on soft beds of emerald moss. The sun was just rising and the birds were singing merrily, but the women were gone. The men looked at each other.
“Did you...?”
“Did you dream...?”
“Did we really...?”
“How did we get here?”
“What happened?”
“Where are they?”
Then one of the men noticed the prints of small, bare feet in the soft moss.
“Yes, they were here! It wasn’t a dream. Here are their tracks!” he cried.
The other men ran over to see, and sure enough there were the clear footprints of the seven maidens—leading deep into the forest.
“Let’s follow them!”
“Yes, we must find them!”
“I have never known a woman so beautiful...”
So all that day the men followed the tracks, until at last, just as the moon was rising, they came to the grove. And there, dancing in a circle, were the seven maidens.
The men were overjoyed and ran toward the women as fast as they could. But just as they reached the dancers, the maidens began to laugh. And a strange thing happened when they laughed—they turned back into trees.
Each of the astounded men found that, instead of a beautiful woman, he was hugging a tree! All seven fell to the ground in shock and amazement. Then they heard a chorus of voices like the whispering of leaves say:
“Now you know the truth that we
Were each one nothing but a tree.
The beauty that you loved so much
Is leaf and bark and root and such.
And if you want us to return
This is the lesson you must learn--
Cut not our sisters, let them be
For maidens dwell in every tree.”
The seven men stood in silence as the truth of what they had seen and heard sank deep into their hearts. Then, as the tree maidens bore silent witness, they took together a solemn oath never to cut another tree and instead to become guardians of the forest. This pledge they took willingly and upheld it all of their days.
And for the trueness of their hearts they were rewarded. For every full moon the maidens came to them in dreams. And in the sacred grove they sang and danced together as men and maidens do when all is right with the world.
©2015 Bonnie Bishop all rights reserved