The World of Stories

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Join us at the campfire for tales from around the world, told by storytellers of all backgrounds and creeds. From the heros and heroines of old, let us relearn and rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors. Shhh..the story begins..

The bards of ancient Denmark once sang of a time when the leaves of all trees remained green year long, despite the harshness of the coldest winter. In those bygone days, all living things--whether plant or animal--had a soul and each was a separate, individual character, but none were exempt from the moral code. All things were expected to be charitable and show kindness to those with whom they inhabited the earth and it was understood that cruel deeds would not go unpunished.

Late one September, flocks of redwings gathered together to prepare for their migratory flight from the impending cold of winter. As the sun began to set, they took to the air and began their long and arduous journey which would end in the warm lands of Africa--all except one who was unable to fly because he had a broken wing.

The injured bird was earthbound, hopping and fluttering as best he could from tree to tree, hoping to find shelter from the cold winds which were beginning to whistle through the forest. He watched his companions until they were little more than tiny specks in the faraway sky--specks which finally vanished over the horizon. The tiny redwing was now alone and in need of a warm and safe place where he could rest and wait for his wing to heal.

He had no doubt that one of the trees around him would be sure to offer him sanctuary, for such was the basic code of Mother Earth-- the strong would help the weak and none would be refused assistance. The redwing stopped first by the roots of a birch, but the birch was busy dancing with the chilly evening breezes playing about its branches and paid no attention to the redwing's request for refuge.

The poor bird then hopped painfully to the trunk of a willow, but the willow was too concerned with its own feelings of deep sorrow and merely drooped more despairingly over the rippled surface of the lake with its foliage trailing through the water and ignored the plea of the small redwing who fluttered on the ground below.

The redwing then turned to the mighty oak--surely this majestic tree would take pity and give comfort--but the oak just stretched its boughs higher towards the darkening sky. It was far too proud and haughty to be bothered with the condition of the small bird with the broken wing or its despondent entreaties.

The redwing shivered in the cold night air as desperation filled his heart. He began to wonder if any of the trees around him would be merciful and sympathetic to his plight or whether he would be left to fend for himself and have to brave the winter cold which he surely would be unable to survive without food and shelter. The bird began to sing to comfort himself and noticed that a spruce--the tallest tree in the forest--was beckoning to him to come closer. The bird, hope now renewed, hopped slowly to the foot of the spruce, his feathers puffed in order to retain in his small body what warmth there was left. The spruce looked down at the weary and pitiful bird and drew in its thickly growing needles tightly around the small creature, protecting him from the piercing wind. A nearby pine spread its branches out widely in order to offer more shelter to the forlorn little bird, and a dark juniper offered an abundance of berries upon which the bird would be able to feed until his wing had healed.

The birch, the willow and the oak were destined to pay dearly for their inhospitality for, from that time on, shortly after the first frost has covered the earth, the wind howls and strips them of their leaves--leaving them to shiver in the bitter wintery cold, as they once left the tiny redwing bird. Forever after, they are vulnerable to the blasts of winter and are obliged to face the ice and snow as shivering skeletons, whereas the charitable and kindly spruce, pine and juniper remain forever green.