The Window in the Tree

        A young boy goes wandering — no, exploring — one day and comes across a tree. This is not surprising since he is in a forest, but this tree has a special feature that does make it surprising. (The boy assumes the feature is special because it is different — and in this instance he is correct — but someone should inform him that “different” and “special” are not always the same.)

        The boy runs over to the tree in the slightly unsteady way young children do, his wooden sword which he insists is not wood but metal clutched in his hand. A tricorn hat of black felt with nettles and burrs clinging to it sits atop his head and an eyepatch with a faded yellow smiley face covers his left eye. He insists that he does have a parrot on his shoulder — “a bright green and red trouble-seeker and adventure-maker who squawks an awful lot and likes to nibble on my ear” — and that its name is Bertie. (It is pointless to argue.)

        The anomaly in question is an oval of glass — a window — situated snugly in the trunk of a tree, right where a tree knot would be. The boy stands on his tiptoes and peers through the window but suddenly there is no window — it is just a tree knot — and now there is nothing special about this one-in-a-thousand-trees tree anymore. The boy steps back, head tilted slightly to one side with a crease between his eyes and lips pursed. He waddle-jogs a few feet in the other direction then goes back to the tree and looks again, but the tree knot is quite real and the window is not.

        The boy could have sworn there was a window (if he knew how to swear) but there is clearly nothing there now so maybe it only was his imagination after all.

        The boy lingers by the no-longer-special tree, waiting for it to become special again, but Bertie is squawking about all the other adventures awaiting him so he steps down from the tree and runs back into the forest. The window in the tree is forgotten quickly, just like it was with every previous person who encountered it.

        And because the boy’s back is turned and other adventures occupy his mind, he does not see the slight glint of a glass reflection through the leaves as he goes. He does not see the adventure he missed.