On the high slope of the woods, near the open beach, there was a really old oak tree, exactly three hundred and sixty-five years old. Pen Fun Pavilion www.biquge.info However, for a tree, such a long time is just like we humans go through so many days and nights, we are awake during the day, sleep at night, and we dream. Trees are a different story, they are awake for three seasons, only to begin to sleep in the winter. Winter is the time it sleeps, the night after its long days; These long days are known as spring, summer, and harvest fall.

On many warm summer days, mayflies dance around the crown of the tree, flying around, feeling very happy. Then the little creature rested quietly and happily on a wide and fresh oak leaf, when the tree always said, "Little poor worm! Your whole life is just one day! How short, so sad!

Lamentable! The mayfly always replied, "What do you mean by talking like that?" I am so happy to know that it is all too good, so warm, so beautiful!

But only one day, and then it's all over!

Finished! The mayfly said: What is the end! Are you done too? No, I may live as long as you live; My day is four seasons! That's a long time, you can't figure it out at all!

No, I don't understand you! You have thousands of days for me, but I have thousands of moments for me to be happy and happy! When you die, will all the good things in the world cease?

No, said the tree, it will continue to be for a long, long time, for more time than I imagined, endlessly!

But it's the same for us, it's just that our calculations are different!

Mayflies dance and fly in the air, and are very fond of their delicate wings, and of their tulle and velvet, and are very happy in the warm sky; The air was filled with the intoxicating scents of axlegrass-covered fields, wild roses, elderberries, and honeysuckle flowers on the fences, not to mention carrot grass, primroses, and wrinkle-leaved spearmint; The aroma was so strong that mayflies thought they were a little drunk, and the days were long and beautiful, full of joy and sweetness. When the sun went down, the little mayfly always felt a comfortable tiredness that was intoxicated by all this happiness. The wings can no longer hold it up; It slid very lightly onto the soft, gently swaying stalks of grass, nodded its head, and clicked until it could no longer be clicked, and fell asleep very happily, and death came.

Poor little mayfly! Oak said, "Life is too short!" Every summer is this same dance frolic, the same words, answers, and sleeping; This scene has been repeated for generations of mayflies, and they are all the same happiness and happiness. The oak tree is always awake in spring, summer, and autumn, and then soon it is time for it to sleep; It's night, winter is coming. The storm is already singing: good evening, good evening! A leaf has been dropped, a leaf has been dropped! We're going to take it off, we're going to take it off and let you sleep well! We send you to sleep with songs, we gently shake you to put you to sleep, but it's good for the old branch, isn't it! Then they burst open with joy! Sleep sweetly, sleep sweetly! It's your 365th night, but you're a one-year-old baby! Sleep sweetly! The clouds are dropping snowflakes, and the snowflakes are piled up in a large layer, which is a warm mattress around your feet! Sleep sweetly and have a sweet dream!

The oak tree stripped itself of its leaves so that it could survive the long winter in peace, and in the winter it dreamed more, all the things that it had experienced, just as it did in people's dreams.

Indeed, it was once young, yes, that kind of shell was its cradle; It now lives in the fourth century, according to man's calculations; It was the largest and most noble tree in the forest, and its crown stretched out in all directions over the other trees, and it could be seen far away on the sea, and became a sign of the navigation of ships; It didn't even think about how many eyes were looking for it. The turtle dove nests high in its green canopy, on which the cuckoo cooes; In autumn, when the leaves look like thin brass plates, migratory birds fly to it to rest, and then fly away over the sea; Every crooked, scarred branch stretched out; The crows and jackdaws took turns flying and resting on the branches, talking about the grim times that were coming and the difficulties of finding food in winter.

It was on the day of the holy Christmas that the oak had its best dreams; I'll have to hear about it.

The oak tree felt very clearly that it was a festive moment, as if it heard the bells of the churches all around, and that it was as soft and warm as on a beautiful summer; It stretched out its dense canopy, fresh and green, the sun frolicked among the foliage, and the air was filled with the fragrance of flowers and bushes; Colorful butterflies are playing a game of caught, mayflies are dancing, as if everything exists just for them to dance for fun. Everything that the oak tree has experienced and seen over the years passes in front of it one after another, like a whole procession of celebrations singing and dancing. It saw ancient knights and ladies, with feathers in their hats and placed on their hands, riding through the woods; The trumpet of the hunt sounded, and the hounds ran to and fro; It saw hostile soldiers, with shiny weapons and colourful clothes, setting up and putting away tents; The light of the watchman's fire was blazing, and people were singing and sleeping under the outstretched branches of the oak tree; It saw lovers tryst here in the moonlight, enjoying quiet bliss, carving the first letters of their names into the gray-green bark. In the past, yes, that was many years ago, and the travelers who passed by, the cheerful young lads, used to hang the lyre and the organ on the branches of the oak tree, and now they hung again, and it was beautiful. The turtledove cooed, as if to pour out what the oak felt; The cuckoo was also crying, talking about how many summers it would live.

At this time, it was as if a fountain of life flowed from its tiniest roots to its highest branches, all the way into every leaf; The oak tree felt the spring stretching it out, yes, and it felt with its roots that the earth was full of life and warmth; It feels that the energy is growing and recovering, and the longer it grows, the higher it gets; The trunk of the tree rises upright, it does not stop for a moment, it grows and grows, and it grows and grows, and the crown of the tree grows denser, and it stretches out and raises high, and as the tree grows, its cheerfulness, its desire to reach higher, and the desire to reach out to the bright, warm sun grows at the same time.

It had grown high through the clouds, and there the black flock of the great flock of migratory birds and the white flock of swans had fallen below it.

Every leaf of an oak tree can be seen, as if the leaves have eyes that can see; The stars can be seen in the daytime, they are big and bright; Each star blinks like an eye, gentle and bright; They remind the old oak of the familiar and lovely eyes, the eyes of children, the eyes of lovers who meet under the tree.

It was a wonderful moment, a great blessing! But in the midst of all this happiness, it felt a longing and hope, longing for all the trees, all the bushes, flowers and plants below the woods to grow up with it, to feel together, to experience this splendor and joy together. All these flowers, plants, and trees, large and small, could not grow with it, and the magnificent oak tree was not entirely pleasant in this most joyful dream. The sensation is turbulent in its branches, in its leaves, very sincerely, very intensely, as in a person's chest.

The oak tree's pole swayed, as if it was looking for something but didn't find it. It looked back, and it felt the scent of the leafy grass, and soon there was a stronger aroma of honeysuckle and violet, and it thought it could hear the cuckoo answering. yes, it looked out through the clouds from the green tops of the woods, and behold, beneath it, the other trees were growing and standing upright, just like it; Bushes and stalks of grass rise high upwards; Some even broke away from their roots and flew quickly. The birch grows the fastest, like a white electric light, its slender trunk stretches upward, its branches like soft yarn, and fluctuates like flags; All the plants in the woods, even the stalks of reeds with brown fluff, the birds sang along, the grasshoppers rested on a stalk of grass like a slender green ribbon that floated and flew, and rubbed its wings on its shin feet; The beetles are whispering, the bees are buzzing, and each bird is singing with its own little beak, singing and joy, all this has been transmitted to the sky.

But the little red flower at the water's edge should also participate! Oak said; There are also blue bellflowers and chamomile! Yes, Oak wants them all. We're already here! We're already here! There was singing and ringing. But last summer's clover, the year before, here was a big boll blue! And wild apples, how beautiful! And for many years, many years of prosperity in the forest! If this bustling scene is still there, and it still exists to this day, then it is also possible to participate! We've participated, we've participated! Singing and ringing came from higher and higher places, as if it were flying right ahead.

It's really, it's great, it's too good to be true! The old oak shouted in high spirits. They're all coming, small and big! None of them were overlooked! How is this happiness possible, how can it be imagined!

In God's heaven this is possible, it is conceivable! Hibiki said.

The oak tree, which had been growing upwards, felt its roots loosen from the dirt.

Now it's the best! Oak said, "There's nothing to hold me back now!" I can fly to the top, to the light, to the splendor! Everything I love, small and big, is with me!

It's all with you!

This is the dream of the oak tree, and while it is dreaming, a violent storm blows on this holy Christmas night, and blows over the sea and land; The waves of the raging sea rushed to the beach, the oak cracked, broke, and at the very moment when it dreamed that its roots were loosened from the dirt, it was uprooted. It fell, and its three hundred and sixty-five years are now like the day of a mayfly.

On Christmas morning, when the sun rises, the storm has ceased; All the church bells were ringing in joy, and smoke rose from every chimney, even the tiniest chimney on the top of the poor peasant's floor, like the blue smoke that rose from the altar of the soothsayer (1) at a feast, the cigarette of thanksgiving. The sea gradually calmed down, more and more quiet, and in the distance a large ship that had withstood the storm of the night, all the flags were raised, and the joy of Christmas was very beautiful.

The tree is gone! That old oak tree, our landmark! The seafarers said. It fell on a stormy night; Who can replace it! No one! The oak tree lying on the beach stretched out was given such a funeral eulogy, which was concise and kind! In the distance came the song of holiness from the ship, the song of Christmas joy, the song of Christ's salvation of mankind and eternal life:

Let the song soar to heaven, devout believers of God!

Hallelujah, of course we are all abundant,

That happiness is incomparable!

Hallelujah, Hallelujah (2)!

The old hymns swirled, and all the people on board in their own way received in this song, in prayer, the kind of relief that the old oak experienced in the last of its best dreams on Christmas Eve.

(1) Refers to the shamans of the ancient Celts, and in the minds of the Celts the oak tree was holy.

(2) Andersen quotes a Christmas hymn by the poet Brockson. (To be continued.) If you like this work, you are welcome to come to the starting point (qidian.com) to vote for recommendation, monthly pass, your support, is my biggest motivation. (To be continued.) )