A Late Frost

Tucked away between the many peaks of the Great Mountains, there was a beautiful little valley. In summertime, this valley was certainly one of the most beautiful places on earth. It was full of bright green grass, wildflowers, birds, little animals, sunshine, and butterflies. At the edge of the valley, a little waterfall skipped down the last few steps of the mountain, and it flowed into a stream that crossed the valley with bubbly energy. A few trees dotted the valley, providing shade from the otherwise very warm sunlight. And in any direction you looked, snow-capped mountain peaked towered against the brightest blue sky you had ever seen.

But it wasn’t summer yet. It was March. And this high in the mountains, spring never came early. The grass was still only a very pale green, just starting to wake up after being covered by a blanket of snow since the autumn. Only a few very impatient flowers had dared to bloom, and the birds had not yet come in from the south.

One of the plants that was growing in this mountain valley was a young beech tree. He had only begun to grow two years ago, and he was still much smaller than some of the other trees in the valley.

The beech tree didn’t mind the winter too much. After all, it gave him a nice rest from all of the business of the summer season and the birds which would wake him up early every morning. But after months of the chilling, cold wind and the long, dark nights, he was ready for spring to come.

One fine morning, the beech awoke to see a particularly bright sunrise. “This is going to be a good day, I think,” he thought to himself. “A few more days of weather like this, and spring will be upon us before we know it!”

The day did indeed turn out to be a very nice one. All of the remaining patches of snow which had been holding out in the darker parts of the valley completely melted. A few more daffodils began to bloom.

The beech tree called out to several of them who were growing near him.

“It’s good to see you all looking so cheery today!” he said.

“Such a beautiful day!” replied the daffodils, in their usual cheery voices.

The next day was just as good. That afternoon, a bee flew by the little tree.

“Is the hive open for business already?” asked the beech tree.

“Not quite!” replied the bee. “I’m just buzzing around the valley to see what’s happening. We’ll be coming your way soon, though!”

And the next day was the best of all, because a bird flew into the valley and landed right on the beech tree’s highest branch.

“How are things up in the valley these days?” asked the bird.

“Coming along nicely!” replied the beech tree. “I think it’s safe to say that spring is here!”

“It’s good to see some life in the mountains again,” sang the bird. “I’ll be back in a few weeks to start a nest. I say, you might be getting tall enough to have a nest in your branches this year!”

This made the beech tree feel very proud.

That night, after watching a lovely red sunset on the mountain peaks, the little tree went to sleep dreaming of butterflies and bubbling brooks.

But in the early hours of the morning, something terrible happened. The warm south breeze, which had been so lovely for the past few weeks, turned, and instead, an icy cold wind from the north blew across the valley.

The temperature began to drop, and in one night, all of the progress of the last month was in danger of being destroyed, because a deep frost began to form on the ground.

When the beech tree awoke the next morning, he was devastated. The poor little daffodils nearby which had been glowing so brightly the day before were now a sickly brownish-grey. And there were no bees or other little animals to be seen anywhere. The tree had been so hopeful that spring was coming—he had been almost certain of it. What could possibly have changed? How could the valley, which had been so warm and sparkling the day before, look so grey and dreary now?

But the little tree didn’t give up all hope. Maybe once the morning was over, the sun would come back out, the wind would turn back, and all would be the way it was before. Maybe this frost would only last a few hours.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. That afternoon was still chilly and dreary. The clouds were so low that the tree couldn’t even see the mountaintops in the distance.

And that night was no better. It was even colder than the night before, and even more of the flowers in the valley were frozen. The tree didn’t sleep well at all, and he was even worried about his own leaf buds.

The next day was the greyest day you could possibly imagine. The sky was grey. The mountains were grey. The grass even looked grey. But inside the little beech tree, something began to change.

He began to feel an even deeper longing for spring than he had before, deeper than in any year in the past. He spent the day thinking of when the sunshine and the bees and the flowers and the birds would come back. Then he began to think about whether any birds would choose to build their nest in his branches—after all, the bird the other day had said he was tall enough!

And as he began to dream of spring, the beech tree found that spring was still very much alive in his own branches, even though it had seemed to die everywhere else. Every night when the ground was covered with frost, and every day when the sky was grey, the tree felt the golden power of spring fill his own heart more and more.

Where he had once looked forward to the coming of spring, he now longed for it in all of his thoughts. Where he had once felt happy about the coming sunshine, he now felt an inexpressible joy at the thought of it.

Soon, spring began to become very much a part of the young beech tree. He was consumed by it. It filled his branches with life and joy, even though it was nowhere to be seen outside.

Then, finally, one evening, just as the sky was getting dark, the clouds began to clear, and as he drifted off to sleep, he saw the stars shining in the dark sky.

The next day was the most glorious day that the young beech tree had ever seen, for the sun shone brighter than it had all year. Its rays began once again to thaw the grass and the flowers.

And this time, spring was ready to leap into flame from the hearts of every living thing in that valley.