In the forest there was a tree named Barnaby.
Barnaby was a very nice tree.
Good strong branches. Lovely rough bark. Excellent for climbing.
But Barnaby had one problem.
He was clumsy.
Not in a small way.
In a very large, very leafy way.
Because one Tuesday in July โ right in the middle of summer, when all the other trees were full and green and magnificent โ
Barnaby sneezed.
AAAH-CHOO.
And lost every single leaf at once. ๐ณ
๐ฒ Bare in Summer
The leaves fell in one enormous rustling cloud.
Whoooosh. Rustle rustle rustle. Thump.
And Barnaby stood there.
Bare.
In July.
All his branches empty. Every single twig naked against the blue sky.
The other trees stared.
“It’s the middle of summer,” said an oak.
“I’m aware,” said Barnaby.
“You’ve lost all your leaves.”
“I’m AWARE,” said Barnaby.
He felt very bare. And very embarrassed. And very, very summer-cold.
“What if they don’t come back?” said Barnaby. “What if I’m broken?”
๐ณ Waiting for Spring
Autumn came.
The other trees lost their leaves on purpose.
At least, Barnaby thought, now he fit in.
Winter came.
Everyone was bare. Barnaby was less self-conscious.
Then, one March morning, Barnaby felt something.
A tickle.
At the end of every branch.
Tingle. Tingle. Tingle.
Very small. Very green. Very definitely there.
Buds.
๐ Michael Watches the Green Come Back
Michael had been visiting Barnaby since July.
Every week. Just to check.
And on this March morning, Michael looked up and gasped.
The first tiny leaves, uncurling from every bud.
Newborn green.
Even brighter than before.
“You’re not broken,” said Michael.
“I’m really not,” said Barnaby, sounding quite surprised and very relieved.
He stood a little taller.
And tried very hard not to sneeze. ๐ณ