david hieatt

High up in a grand old oak tree, there’s a small door.

No one knows it’s there, but it’s there all the same.

The sign on the door reads: Acorns only.

Inside is a wooden clad room full of books. In the middle of the room there’s a well-worn desk and a chair. The walls are lined with framed pictures of glorious oak trees like one huge family tree.

As dusk arrives, an old barn owl swoops down and the door automatically opens.

The owl sits down at the desk. He reaches for the draw and pulls out a bottle whisky. He pours himself a glass. He takes a sip.

On cue, there’s a knock on the door.

“Enter’ booms the owl.

 An acorn walks in and sits down facing the owl.

“Jimmy, thanks for coming. I just wanted to have a word. The time is coming, Son. Soon you’ll fall to the ground like a sack of spuds.

But that’s when the real journey begins…

If the wind doesn’t blow you into the river, then the jays will eat you up, and if they don’t the stupid dumb squirrels will pick up and hide you in a secret place that even they will forget about.

If you dodge all those bullets, and you start to grow, you might be in the shade of a mighty oak and never see the sunshine, so you’ll shrivel and die. Or the wild deer come along and eat you up for their supper and you’ll be spat out the other end. Or maybe a ferocious storm will descend upon you and blow you away as if you were a toothpick.

The odds are stacked against you lad. You’ve a one in a million chance, if you’re lucky.

Now lad I want you to promise me this that this conversation can never be repeated to any other acorn.

(The acorn nods not knowing what else to do)

Good, because I have something important that you must know.

You’re the one.

Your picture will hang in this room one day.

You’re going to make it.

You’re the one.

In all the struggles you’ll face in the coming years, please remember my words: You’re the one.

Now off you go. You know your destiny now”

(The acorn says his thanks, and leaves the room he mutters to himself “I’m the one…I’m the one….”)

The owl takes another sip of whisky.

(There’s a knock at the door)

“Enter" booms the owl.

An acorn walks in and sits down facing the owl.

“Arthur, thanks for coming. I just wanted to have a word. The time is coming, Son. Soon you’ll fall to the ground like a sack of spuds.

But that’s when the real journey begins…

2011 C Trees are built on optimism. DH