The King of the Trees - A Fable

It was a brisk and windy day of early autumn, as the first auburn leaves began to coat the ground, when the old crone who lived on the outskirts of the village invited all the townsfolk to her hut and asked them this question; “Who is the king of the trees?”

One man stood up and said, “Clearly, it is the great sequoia, for he is the tallest of the trees, and towers above them as a king is raised above his people.”

But another man rose as well, retorting, “No, it must be the mighty ironwood, for he is the sturdiest and the strongest.”

Soon, everyone rose up in clamor, each one giving his own view on the matter. Said the merchant, “It must be the frankincense tree, for from his sap are made valuable perfumes, and so he is the wealthiest,” and an artist objected, “It must be the cherry blossom, for he is the most beautiful, and nothing is more important than beauty.” All felt the need to say some opinion, whether or not they actually had anything to say, and many viewpoints spewed from their lips half-formed.

As they bickered, the old crone sat by, chuckling quietly to herself. And eventually, the people ran out of arguments and theories and grew silent, and could only look towards the old crone, wordlessly pleading for her to at least tell them which among them was correct.

A smile spread across the old woman’s thin and wrinkled lips. “All of you are wrong,” she announced to the perplexed crowd. “The true king of the trees is the Wind itself, for when he makes his way through the forest, all the trees bow their heads.”

Winter 2022