Nights with Ehme were filled with somber whimpering and joyful dreams.

Of which…

—-

A fuzzy blur of light started off most of Den’s dreams. 

But this dream was unlike the others before it. For in it, Den was not alone: 

Skipping up to where its roots met soil, a young girl propped her easel and sighed. 

What is your name, and what makes you sigh?

Inquisitively, the young girl looked around the field wondering where/who/what the question came from. 

Seeing only the blades of grass and the tree, she answered, “My name is Diao; I am an artist.”

“Since there’s no one around, I assume the asker of questions is you, tree. So, do you have a name, or shall I consider you hollow?”

Den thought,

I have a name as much as you, my child. I am the Earth as I am the air. The son of the Sun, and the father of leaves.

I have grown from seed to sapling. I am the warmth when you are cold and the shade when you are hot. I have grown from sapling to thick tree, where others have not. I continue to blossom daily, while others rot. 

When the Sun goes down, and the air begins to thin, I’m always thinking.

But you may call me Den. 

—-

The young girl giggled at its silly rhyme, dropped her paints and asked, 

“May I paint you, dearest Den?”

I cannot see why not. May the horizon be your guide. 

—-

Hours passed and the girl became frustrated. No matter how much talent she had, she could not seem to get Den’s lines right. 

Out of anger, Diao threw her brush to the ground, marched up to Den and began to slide her fingers across its branches - within its many cracks, holes, and indentations.

What is the meaning of this molestation?!

“I need to find your flaws, dear tree. I need to know you - everything about you, if I’m ever to paint you. I need to know what makes this branch sway different from that branch. Why your roots hold so firm. I need to know how deep you go. From your interior to your exterior, I must know you.”

And that is what she did.

For days, Diao meticulously navigated Den. Finding his flaws, and loving every last discrepancy between her and it.

But like everything before and everything to come after, Diao finished her painting. 

“I think I need to add more trees to this painting if it’s going to be complete,” said Diao in a faint voice. 

I did not hear you, child. What did you say?

“I have to go now, Den. I’ve done all I can here. It’s time for you to wake up.” 

—-

With a shudder of its leaves, Den awoke from its dream. 

“Are you ok, my love, my Den?” asked Ehme in a concerned tone. 

No. No, it’s nothing. I am fine. Go back to sleep, my sweet, sweet Ehme.

—-

As its bird - the love of its life - fell back asleep, Den could not help but think of its dream. 

Could its dream, its Diao, be a foreshadow of things to come. Den hoped not.

And as Den slipped back into glorious slumber, a single leaf detached from its branch, and fell to the ground.

To dry up and dissolve away.