The oak tree
From the window in my parent’s bedroom I had a perfect view on the lake behind our garden. Every now and then, when my parents weren’t home, I would sit by the window, and watch the wonders which happened on and around the lake. By day those were just old fishermen, small rowing boats, a bunch of seagulls, and a few swimmers. At night however it buzzed with beautiful swans, fluorescent bugs, dancing shadows, and green waves. Whenever I told my mom about the things that happened at night, and when I begged her to come watch them with me, she would tell me to stop dreaming and to get back to reality.
Now again I was looking how the waves moved, I was listening to how the owls sang the rhythm of the shadows. Just when I started memorizing the melodies, I saw a figure moving from the corner of my eye: a young boy with golden hair ran towards the lake. Afraid that he would scare the swans away, I called for him. But he couldn’t hear me. I was hidden inside, and he was out there, possibly destroying the beauty of the lake.
He kept running, for what seemed like forever, until he reached an oak tree near the edge of the lake. Only now did I see he was carrying a strong wooden box. He put it down in front of the tree, and walked away again. I could only wonder for a second what was in the box before he came back with a shovel, and started digging.
Slowly my gaze started drifting towards the lake again, back to the swans and the waves, all still safely there. I sighed with relief. Usually they disappeared when somebody else got too close. It was as if they could only appreciate my presence, and that of no one else. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to mind the boy at all, and my eyes got a hold of him again.
The hole he was digging wasn’t too deep, but probably deep enough to bury the box – if that was his intention. He looked around for a few seconds, and when he had made sure no one was watching him, he picked up the box. With quite some difficulty he took the lid off. He emptied it in its entirety on the grass, and threw the box away.
Hundreds of white pieces of paper came falling out. I could only wonder what they said. He kneeled beside them and picked some of them up. He looked at each of them thoughtfully before putting them, hesitantly, into the hole. He covered them with mother earth again and walked away, not even looking back.
I remained in place, and I saw the fireflies fly curiously from the lake towards the tree.