When the Trees Listen: A Bloom & Bough Snippet

Once upon a time, there was a tree—and her name was Needle.

Needle was a beautiful pine tree in Yellowstone National Park. She stood proud and tall, though quite young—only about fifty years old, just a sapling compared to her ancient neighbors.

But Needle loved being a tree in the park. She stood near one of the popular spots where visitors would stop and wander along the banks of the Yellowstone River. She loved listening to their conversations—where they were from, what they marveled at, how the park’s beauty stirred their hearts.

She had withstood many storms, many winters, and the rough backs of buffalo scratching against her trunk to shed their coats.

One day, Needle overheard a little girl crying.

She was upset because she hadn’t seen any animals during their visit. She had been asleep when her family had glimpsed some buffalo across a meadow. And now, she longed to see anything—even a bird.

Needle knew she had a bluebird living in her treetop. Her name was Bianca.

Bianca had returned to Needle’s branches for three springs now, always raising her hatchlings in the shelter of the pine.

Needle, hearing the girl’s tears and her quiet plea to her mother, sent a tremor up her trunk. Her needles shivered, and a few floated gently down, landing in the girl’s hair.

Bianca, Needle called, in the telepathic language shared among trees, birds, and fairies.

Bianca hopped onto a branch, glanced down, and saw the little girl. She understood.

She took flight.

She swooped around the girl and her mother, who both shrieked with delight. Then she landed on a boulder in the middle of the river, chirping sweetly.

The girl gasped. “Mama, look! A bird!”

Her mother smiled. “Yes, sweetie. You said you wanted to see one, and now… here she is.”

The little girl giggled and patted Needle’s trunk. “I think the tree heard me.”

Needle sent another gentle shiver through herself, and more needles rained down upon mother and daughter. They laughed and picked up the soft green treasures from the forest floor.

Needle sent her thanks to Bianca, who chirped once more, then danced up the river on the wind, wings glinting in the sun.

“Mama, look!” the little girl shouted. “Now I’ve finally seen an animal in Yellowstone!”

But it didn’t stop there.

Needle and Bianca spread the word throughout the park: The little girl in the blue cotton dress wishes to see the animals.

And see them she did.

A robin sang near her tent.

Chipmunks dashed across her path.

A mountain lion left paw prints on the trail they walked that morning.

She heard a wolf pack howling as the stars blinked overhead on their drive back to the hotel.

And then—just before they left—the girl saw a whole herd of buffalo calmly walking down the road, as if they’d come to bid her farewell.

She smiled up at the trees and whispered, “Thank you.”

And the forest, as always, listened.

The girl knew—next time she came to Yellowstone, she could ask again. And she would be heard.