Birdie's Book - Andrea Burden [7]
I followed in Mo’s footprints, one long-striding step at a time. We finally made it across the bridge, where a short path led to the entrance to the boxwood maze, which was frosted with snow. The sheer size of the hedges, as dense as brick walls, was staggering.
“Can we go in?” I asked.
“Be my guest,” said Mo, waving me ahead.
I began the walk through the maze. I chose my steps to keep from slipping in the snow, and chose my turns to avoid dead ends. Mo followed, and when I turned back to look at her, her face was beaming. We made the switchback turns and curves through the maze path. It was absolutely silent in there, insulated by the boxwoods and the snow. All I could hear was the crunching of our boots on the ground. I picked up my pace, since the snow and the trees had turned a golden pink hue and I knew the sun would be setting any minute. Turn, run, turn, run. Mo’s footsteps kept up right behind me, and then …
There I stood in the center of the maze, feeling very tiny (minuscule, actually) beneath the biggest deciduous tree I’d ever laid eyes on. Back home in Califa, we had some good-sized native oaks, but I’d never ever seen one this huge! The trunk was as massive as a giant sequoia; there was no way my arms could ever reach around it. The bark was rough with furrows and ridges, like a wise old face. Even in this wintry air, the tree felt welcoming and warm.
“How do you do, Ms. Quercus?” I asked the tree, extending a bow.
“Quercus robur!” exclaimed Mo with surprise. “Of course, it’s an English oak!” She stared up at the tree herself for a few moments. “I’ve always just called it the Glimmer Tree.”
“How come?” I asked.
“My grandmother named it that,” Mo replied. “I used to climb it, and so did your mother when she was little.”
We stood silently as the tree’s powerful limbs rustled in the wind, casting shadows against the pale pink background of the December sky. Suddenly I couldn’t help but wrap my arms around the huge trunk, as far as I could reach. The tree somehow made everything seem safe and good and, well, like everything would be okay, even if things felt hard now.
“Your mother loved this tree,” said Mo, as if hugging a tree was the most natural thing in the world. “She thought Glimmer was a perfect name, and she always said the sun made its leaves glimmer like stars.”
“Seems awfully poetic for the Mom I know,” I said, running my fingers along one of the tree’s many knotholes.
“Well, loving trees is a family thing,” said Mo. “Hard to shake, even for someone like your mother. My grandmother, who was your great-great-grandmother Dora, was an arborist, a tree girl with a wild and colorful imagination. You have the gift, too,” Mo said with a wink.
I made my way to the tree’s other side and hugged again. My face rested on a spot that felt oddly mushy. I reached up and wiped the snow off. There was a large section of bark that was soft compared to the rest, as if it were rotting or sick or something.
“Look at this, Granny Mo!” I exclaimed. “I think the tree might be sick!”
She came to my side and felt the area, nodding slowly, her mouth oddly pinched. “Yes, I’ve been worried about that,” she said sadly. She sighed. “It started years ago, Birdie. It was just a tiny patch, but it has been growing worse year by year. The damage goes deeper than what you see.”
“Yes, it probably goes down to the roots, Granny Mo,” I said.
“Exactly,” she agreed. “The roots. We’ve inherited the job of taking care of all green life. We sing the green song. And you are the strongest member of the Arbor Lineage now, Birdie. It’s up to you.”
I got a shiver up and down my spine, and it wasn’t from the cold.
“Me?” I asked. “What are you talking about? What do I have to do with the Glimmer Tree rotting?”
“Well, to tell you the honest truth—everything,” said Mo. “You didn’t cause it, but you do have the power to heal it. You have the gift, Birdie, in spades.”
I started wondering about Mo’s crazy streak and was relieved when a fluffy Siamese cat trotted