A Dryad’s Hope

By Amelie Oeverman

What was that? I lay shivering in bed as I peered into the deep darkness that invaded my room. I heard another rustle. Too panicked to scream, I reached for my light, and convinced my trembling fingers to turn it on.

The burst of light revealed a young girl standing at the edge of my bed. She was dressed in brownish-green robes that danced around her as if a light breeze had crept into the still room. Her long chestnut hair, kept back with a green headband, appeared intertwined with leaves. Her green eyes held a wild but solemn expression, and as I gazed at her a deep sadness entered my mind. A sadness that was not my own.

Stretching out a hand, the girl beckoned to me, but I was too awestruck to move. Her frown deepened. Troubled at her dismay, I gathered courage to speak, but then silvery letters dripped into my mind, like water from the tip of a leaf. They began to form words.

Come help! She beckoned again, and feeling myself rise, I went to her. The girl’s rough hand slipped into mine, and suddenly we were on my driveway.

Turning to me, the girl wildly pointed about her.

Confused, I shook my head. Again, the letters slipped into my mind.

I understood then the source of the girl’s dismay. The brown leaves of fall had begun to drop. I had never felt so much sadness before, but her words carried such powerful emotion that I was forced to share her concern. Stooping down, the girl gently picked up a leaf and placed its stem on a tree. Without a flash or a sound, the leaf suddenly resumed its radiant summer green and continued its waltz with the warm breeze sweeping past. Sensing that the girl wanted me to help her, I took up a leaf, but it crumbled under my grasp. With a violent shake of her head, the girl slapped the disintegrated leaf out of my hand.

She showed me how to pick up the delicate leaves by the stems and hold them up to the trees to be restored. After my first mistake, I learned quickly, and soon we had finished replacing the scattered leaves from my driveway. We moved on to the next house, working fast, trying to beat the sun’s morning rays…

My eyes fluttered open, and I stared at the ceiling of my room.

That was the craziest dream I’ve ever had.

Getting up, I ran outside, daring to believe the night’s events were real.

Sure enough, the trees were again heavy with glorious green leaves. However, as I stood entranced by them, one by one the leaves broke away and littered the ground with their decaying bodies. I fought back tears at the uselessness of last night’s work.

Then a thought blossomed in my mind. This was natural! Leaves are meant to fall this time of year. The paradox of fall—a dying world holds a secret: the new life of spring.

That night I lay awake, praying the girl would appear before me again so I could tell her my newfound truth.

She again appeared silently and took my hand.

Once outside, I fervently explained to the girl that “fall” was a natural event that happened every year. I described to her how the empty winter trees would eventually sprout flowers and then the leaves we treasured.

The girl’s icy stare cut short my little sermon, and soon we were back to our fruitless labor of reviving trees. Night after night we worked, but every morning the trees would appear more and more bare.

A night in mid-October shattered the pattern we had been living in for almost six weeks.

As the girl and I bent, straightened, and reached for each leaf, I noticed that she was slower in her movements. With every bend, she seemed to have more difficulty. I touched her shoulder, letting concern emanate from my eyes. Her words slipped into me, assuring me that all was well.

Not convinced, I continued to watch her strained efforts until dawn bathed the world in its warm embrace. As the sun’s golden fingers reached toward us, a cry made me drop the leaf I cradled. I turned to see the girl withering into a tree’s shadow.

The next night I waited for her, too troubled to sleep. She appeared before me, frail and stooped. She was still the small girl I had met weeks ago, but lines carved shadows across her weary face.

Out in the frosty air, we began working again. For once I worked quicker than her. On her fifth stoop, the girl collapsed.

Running to her side, I pushed back the hair veiling her face.

Two terrified eyes stared up at me.

I wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, that all was not lost because of the hope of spring. Her hard gaze finally softened, understanding all that I was thinking.

Feeble words crept into my head, directing me to a young tree, newly planted that summer. A few leaves remained, determined to last. As I laid the girl against the tree, the twirling wind softly plucked the leaves off and spun them together in the air. I turned away from the girl to watch the leaves settle on the ground.

With a sigh, I looked back again, only to find her gone.

The dim sensation of words tipped into my mind with a tender goodbye as the tree swayed in the still night. I smiled, knowing that the small girl was finally gifted with the sleep that would bless her until the coming spring.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amelie Oeverman is a recent graduate of St. Stephen’s Academy in Portland, Oregon. In her free time, she loves to read all sorts of books, spend time with her four sisters, and learn more about God and His Word. Amelie is excited to be attending Hillsdale College this fall to study US history and politics.