An oak’s ordinary day in Campo de Montiel
It was a kermes oak lonely, unique and beautiful. As the drainage of a sea of barley or as the axis on which the tent of the sky stood,…
An oak tree in the middle of the country is like a magnet, a resting place for the eyes, a shadow on which to cool the fatigue of the body. An oak tree is never equal to itself, neither it can be seen with the same eyes. Sometimes, the oaks speak and those who hear them are called fortune tellers. This is what I heard from the oracle of a soothsayer water diviner, at a chat over a fire of some kermes oak branches:
It was a kermes oak lonely, unique and beautiful. As the drainage of a sea of barley or as the axis on which the tent of the sky stood, those who passed by, felt extremely drawn to it.
One day, early in the morning, a child passed by on his way to school. He got close to the oak. He ran five turns around it. He pissed on its trunk. He threw a stone on it, some acorns fell and he ate them.
By mid-morning, a youg couple came up to it. The boy carved with the tip of a knife their names on the oak’s trunk. The girl printed a kiss on his lips.
Later on, a lumberjack stopped by and admired the oak’s beauty and strength. He thought of how long it would take to cut down that tree. But as it was noon and it was warm, he went on.
In the afternoon, a trader stopped by on the way. He considered how much wood he could make from the lonely oak and figured out his profit. But he dismissed the idea, as it was much more profitable to cut down a forest.
The night was falling. An old man sat under the oak. He was very tired as life was going away from him. He thanked the holm oak all services rendered: the acorns, the kiss, the beauty, the projects. And so it was as a day of the oak were as 80 years of the man who disappeared under its roots
José María Arcas Valero