Something woke Max in the middle of
the night. It wasn’t noise. Not at first anyhow.
It was light.
You know how a person becomes accustomed to the ambient sounds around home, and the usual smells, and the normal level of light. It all depends on where a person lives. If there is traffic nearby, there will be headlights through open curtains. If a person lives in the woods or on a farm there are only the sun, moon, and stars, and whatever yard lights and such.
Max and Judy lived on a one acre hobby farm in the suburbs of a small city in western Washington state. Max was retired so he was there most of the time, tending his trees, raised garden boxes, and a flock of busy hens. It was a nice life.
Outside Max’s bedroom window, on the far side of the lawn, next to the woods, was a an old maple. It has been there before the house was built and the garden made. It was late summer, and the bedroom window was open. Max and Judy believed in fresh air at night.
Something changed enough to make Max open his eyes. Judy slept on. Something was different outside. He sat up to take a look around. The room was fine. Totally normal.
So, he went to the window to take a look out there.
There was a globe of yellow light, a normal color, about the size of a cantaloupe melon moving around among the leaves of the ancient maple. Max’s first thought was that someone with a large flashlight had climbed his tree and was up there moving around for some unaccountable reason.
“Judy, wake up. I’m going outside. Some nut is up in the maple with a light,” said Max.
“What? Don’t go out there! Just call the police,” said sleepy Judy, up on one elbow.
He put on his terry robe, and said, “It won’t take long. I’ll just tell them to get out of the tree and go home. I bet it’s some nut who thinks it’s a magical tree or something.”
“If I don’t come back, then you can call the cops,” said Max, barefoot, stomping out of the bedroom and to the backdoor of their house.
The night was like night often is. Cool, a bit of dampness to the air, quiet in a sort of impending way. There was traffic noise from the freeway a few miles away, and he could see lights here and there in neighbor’s houses. The grass was in need of a mow and covered in dew.
When Max got to his tree, the light was still up there, moving slowly around as if it was taking inventory of the leaves.
“Get out of the tree!” Max ordered. Nothing changed. Not at all.
There was a bench under this old tree, made of wrought iron, painted green.
“If you don’t come down, I will come up there and make you get down,” called Max.
It was kind of a rash threat to be made by a man pushing seventy years, barefoot, and in a bathrobe. But, Max climbed up on the iron bench and threw a leg over the lowest branch. Then he grabbed a higher branch with his right hand.
The yellow light moved up higher into the tree.
He couldn’t see any person associated with the big yellow light, but he was so sure that he hefted himself up onto the second branch. Sitting there, on a branch in his maple tree, in the middle of the night, Max noticed a sort of ringing sound, very high register, like you might imagine, if you were so inclined, that fairies might make by ringing fairy bells. It made him
feel something or remember something, but he couldn’t quite place it. It felt like a memory but had no attached data. He frowned, working on it, trying to remember.
Then there was an odor. Not unpleasant, but strong. The smell of sap, and crushed leaves. And while he was listening to the fairy bells, and smelling the green sappy scent, the night changed all around Max. It was as if he were in another place. He fell.
He landed plop, right on his bottom on a stoney slope. He was in twilight, and surrounded by millions of wee lights, starlike, but not stars. Perhaps they were more like fireflies, though he had never seen fireflies at home.
While Max was sitting on the stone surface, some small figures ran by him laughing. He couldn’t really see them well at all. “Gotcha!” one yelled as they ran past.
It was then that Judy woke for real.
“Oh!” she said, remembering what Max had told her before he went out. It felt
like it must have been some time too.
“Oh!,” she said, and threw her feet onto the floor. “Oh, no!”
Wearing only a granny nightie, Judy padded rapidly into the kitchen, and reached down into a lower cabinet. What she pulled out of there was a five pound bucket of honey of known provenance, real honey, the real stuff.
Then white cotton billowing behind her, Judy ran out the same way Max had. There was no light in the maple tree, and the bench was knocked over.
“Oh, no, they di’n’t!” she muttered in her Appalachian accent, picking up the bench.
Judy put the bucket of real honey on the grass under the branches of the ancient maple The she stood back.
“Take this honey, and give me back mine!” said Judy, like she meant it.
“Give him back!,” she called, saying a few words in some old language nobody speaks anymore.
It was quiet for a while, a standoff. Negotiations, bargains, who knows?
A small figure the size of a cottontail rabbit ran out of the darkness and grabbed the bucket and disappeared again.
It was quiet again for several minutes. Judy waited, and did not lessen her pressure.
Max fell off of the branch he had
been sitting on. Plop, he landed right on the iron bench, looking startled to
find himself there.
“Why have you been out here so long?” said Judy. “I was worried about you!”
“I saw a light in the tree, I think,” said Max. “I came to see who was in the tree.”
“You must have sat down and gone to sleep,” said Judy.
“I think I did, Judy! I think I came out here and sat down and went to sleep,” said Max.
“I had a funny dream though, but it’s fading.”
“We may as well stay up now,” Judy said. “Morning is nearly here. I’ll start breakfast and why don’t you have a shower and warm up?”
Max agreed that a shower sounded nice about then, and then breakfast after.
Before they went back into the house, Judy turned and gave the tree a long deep blue-eyed look.
It was light.
You know how a person becomes accustomed to the ambient sounds around home, and the usual smells, and the normal level of light. It all depends on where a person lives. If there is traffic nearby, there will be headlights through open curtains. If a person lives in the woods or on a farm there are only the sun, moon, and stars, and whatever yard lights and such.
Max and Judy lived on a one acre hobby farm in the suburbs of a small city in western Washington state. Max was retired so he was there most of the time, tending his trees, raised garden boxes, and a flock of busy hens. It was a nice life.
Outside Max’s bedroom window, on the far side of the lawn, next to the woods, was a an old maple. It has been there before the house was built and the garden made. It was late summer, and the bedroom window was open. Max and Judy believed in fresh air at night.
Something changed enough to make Max open his eyes. Judy slept on. Something was different outside. He sat up to take a look around. The room was fine. Totally normal.
So, he went to the window to take a look out there.
There was a globe of yellow light, a normal color, about the size of a cantaloupe melon moving around among the leaves of the ancient maple. Max’s first thought was that someone with a large flashlight had climbed his tree and was up there moving around for some unaccountable reason.
“Judy, wake up. I’m going outside. Some nut is up in the maple with a light,” said Max.
“What? Don’t go out there! Just call the police,” said sleepy Judy, up on one elbow.
He put on his terry robe, and said, “It won’t take long. I’ll just tell them to get out of the tree and go home. I bet it’s some nut who thinks it’s a magical tree or something.”
“If I don’t come back, then you can call the cops,” said Max, barefoot, stomping out of the bedroom and to the backdoor of their house.
The night was like night often is. Cool, a bit of dampness to the air, quiet in a sort of impending way. There was traffic noise from the freeway a few miles away, and he could see lights here and there in neighbor’s houses. The grass was in need of a mow and covered in dew.
When Max got to his tree, the light was still up there, moving slowly around as if it was taking inventory of the leaves.
“Get out of the tree!” Max ordered. Nothing changed. Not at all.
There was a bench under this old tree, made of wrought iron, painted green.
“If you don’t come down, I will come up there and make you get down,” called Max.
It was kind of a rash threat to be made by a man pushing seventy years, barefoot, and in a bathrobe. But, Max climbed up on the iron bench and threw a leg over the lowest branch. Then he grabbed a higher branch with his right hand.
The yellow light moved up higher into the tree.
He couldn’t see any person associated with the big yellow light, but he was so sure that he hefted himself up onto the second branch. Sitting there, on a branch in his maple tree, in the middle of the night, Max noticed a sort of ringing sound, very high register, like you might imagine, if you were so inclined, that fairies might make by ringing fairy bells. It made him
feel something or remember something, but he couldn’t quite place it. It felt like a memory but had no attached data. He frowned, working on it, trying to remember.
Then there was an odor. Not unpleasant, but strong. The smell of sap, and crushed leaves. And while he was listening to the fairy bells, and smelling the green sappy scent, the night changed all around Max. It was as if he were in another place. He fell.
He landed plop, right on his bottom on a stoney slope. He was in twilight, and surrounded by millions of wee lights, starlike, but not stars. Perhaps they were more like fireflies, though he had never seen fireflies at home.
While Max was sitting on the stone surface, some small figures ran by him laughing. He couldn’t really see them well at all. “Gotcha!” one yelled as they ran past.
“Oh!,” she said, and threw her feet onto the floor. “Oh, no!”
Wearing only a granny nightie, Judy padded rapidly into the kitchen, and reached down into a lower cabinet. What she pulled out of there was a five pound bucket of honey of known provenance, real honey, the real stuff.
Then white cotton billowing behind her, Judy ran out the same way Max had. There was no light in the maple tree, and the bench was knocked over.
“Oh, no, they di’n’t!” she muttered in her Appalachian accent, picking up the bench.
Judy put the bucket of real honey on the grass under the branches of the ancient maple The she stood back.
“Take this honey, and give me back mine!” said Judy, like she meant it.
“Give him back!,” she called, saying a few words in some old language nobody speaks anymore.
It was quiet for a while, a standoff. Negotiations, bargains, who knows?
A small figure the size of a cottontail rabbit ran out of the darkness and grabbed the bucket and disappeared again.
It was quiet again for several minutes. Judy waited, and did not lessen her pressure.
“Why have you been out here so long?” said Judy. “I was worried about you!”
“I saw a light in the tree, I think,” said Max. “I came to see who was in the tree.”
“You must have sat down and gone to sleep,” said Judy.
“I think I did, Judy! I think I came out here and sat down and went to sleep,” said Max.
“I had a funny dream though, but it’s fading.”
“We may as well stay up now,” Judy said. “Morning is nearly here. I’ll start breakfast and why don’t you have a shower and warm up?”
Max agreed that a shower sounded nice about then, and then breakfast after.
Before they went back into the house, Judy turned and gave the tree a long deep blue-eyed look.
💙
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