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  • The Faerytale Apothecary

The Little Tree


Once there was a Little Tree that skulked in the corner of a Christmas Tree shop, the top of the Little Tree hanging low with sadness.

It had been walked past by several families now, none paying it much of a glance.

The Little Tree’s taller, brighter, bushier brothers and sisters were being taken away each time instead.

The Little Tree could see the excitement on the faces of the humans as these other trees were carefully selected, but it still did not receive a single second look.

The Little Tree knew it’s height wasn’t the problem, for there were lots of small tress at the Christmas Tree Shop, but it’s branches did not grow in quite the same way as the branches of the other trees did.

It also had patches where no branches grew at all.

The Little Tree bent itself lower again, as it knew it would be another weekend of it not being picked, of it not being decorated with pretty garlands or glowing lights or sparkling baubles.

It raised itself slightly as it heard voices and footsteps heading in it’s direction.

It tried to shy away, to make itself so tiny it couldn’t be seen, it had heard the rumours, the bullying, the threats of what happened to defective trees such as it was.

But what walked towards the Little Tree now was a Woman who was smiling.

The Little Tree tried to look about it, to what the Woman was obviously smiling at for it couldn’t possibly be at the Little Tree, could it?

It tried not to look, tried not to wish too much.

She was positively jumping with glee around the Little Tree now, there could be no doubt, she was paying it attention, happy to see it, not one of the others, it.

She continued to circle the Little Tree carefully looking it all over, the Little Tree felt nervous with hope.

“It’s just perfect!”

she exclaimed to the Man who worked at the Christmas Tree shop.

The Man who worked at the Christmas Tree shop stared at the Woman blankly before shrugging and going to fetch a saw.

When she noticed what was in his hand on his return she stepped in front of the Little Tree with a shudder, determined to protect it.

“Oh please, please don’t chop it.”

The very words made her shudder again.

She stood firm.

“I want it digging up, it’s going to be planted so it can live on.”

She received the same response from the Man as she had before, a shrug of indifference as he trudged of to discard the saw and find a spade.

Perhaps that Little Tree and this Woman suited each other, he thought to himself, all normal people chose normal trees, not that funny looking thing.

The Little Tree, under the Woman’s strict supervision, found itself carefully dug up, wrapped in a blanket and placed gently in the back of a Van, the Woman was taking it away.

The Little Tree was still scared, worried it might be hacked to pieces, the nightmare of smoke making it shake as it lay in the Van, the Van trying it’s best to reassure the Little Tree as they trundled along.

Although it might have seemed like a forever journey, it wasn’t long before the Van came to a halt and the Little Tree found itself being treated just as carefully, just as delicately as it was taken out.

It tried to pay attention to where it had been brought, was aware of faces pressed against the glass of the windows of a building as the Woman carried it into the garden where a nice big, but not too big that it would be swallowed up.

A nice, just the right size hole was ready and waiting for the Little Tree to be lowered into.

“Welcome to your new home Little Tree”

the Woman whispered to it as she helped it straighten out the branches that wanted to be straight.

The Little Tree glanced up to see a line of determined Children carrying boxes and trailing tinsel walking towards it.

The Woman cautioned the Children to be gentle with the Little Tree, for it was perhaps a tiny bit scared and had not been treated very nicely by the other trees or people where it had lived before.

They hadn’t liked it because it was different from all the other trees.

“Does that mean it is like us?”

one of the children asked.

“Yes, that’s right” the woman replied.

“It’s a Not Normal Tree.”

“And what do we say when someone or something is called Not Normal?” she asked them.

“That it is extra special and filled with love”

the children chorused.

The Little Tree bristled itself up to its full height proudly.

It liked being Not Normal.

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