Best Australian Yarn: Marla’s Magic Tree by Lee Sullivan

In the moist brown earth, a seed is dropped. It nestles into the soil, and every creature in the dark earth holds its breath, waiting. Above the ground stands a small girl with a spade. She gently covers the hole she just dug, and sprinkles it with water. “Marla!”cries a voice from inside the red brick house behind her. Little Marla whispers something to her seed, words brimming with magic. “Grow, little seed. Grow into a big beautiful Magic Tree.”

In the moist brown earth, good things are stirring. Warm things, new things. Tiny roots begin to dig down into the dark soil. Above the ground crouches Marla, a small smile on her face. She studies the plant that has sprouted, a tiny green promise of the Magic Tree to come. “You will be magic, little sprout. You are small and new and full of hope.”

In the moist brown earth, roots dig deeper. They grow thicker and stronger and more of the tree bursts up through the soil. Above the ground skips Marla, a school bag on her back. She is singing happily to herself, ready for whatever the day chooses to bring. She stops beside the sapling and grins. “You are getting closer to being a magic tree, sapling. Keep growing bigger and stronger.”

In the moist brown earth, roots soak up water. They carry the moisture up into the trunk of the tree. Above the ground sits Marla, reading under the growing tree. Her eyes soak up the words as they scan the page. They drink in each detail, helping her mind to grow smart and strong. Then she shoves the book into her bag and swings it over her shoulder. “I can feel magic in you, little tree. Thank you for growing your branches for me to sit under.”

In the moist brown earth, creatures come to make homes among the roots, excited for the offer of warm lodgings down below. The tree welcomes them with open roots. Above the ground stands Marla, hand in hand with a young man. “This is my magic tree,” she says, her voice filled with pride. “I was only tiny when I planted it, and look how much it’s grown.”

In the moist brown earth, the roots live in harmony with the creatures. As they stretch out, the creatures make room, and the roots make room for the creatures. Above the ground lies a newly wed couple under the tree, staring up at the light through its branches. “Isn’t it beautiful?”whispers Marla. “Our special Magic Tree,”

In the moist brown earth, a new root wriggles its way through the dark soil. It brings the promise of new life for the tree and the dirt. Above the ground rests Marla on a hand-crafted bench, a new addition to the garden. She cradles a baby in her arms, and sings softly to the little bundle. Her words are special, a welcome song to the tiny new life so delicately balanced against her chest. “Welcome, little one,” she croons. “Welcome to the world. This is our Magic Tree.”

In the moist brown earth, a network of roots stretches out, enriching the dark soil. The roots keep spreading, taking different paths through the dirt. Above the ground laughs Marla, watching three small children play in the tree. The oldest, a boy, climbs up the branches of the tree. His sister giggles as she flies through the air on a swing, with her father standing behind. Marla built the swing for her children, so that they can enjoy the tree as much as she did. The youngest little girl stands with her mother, staring up at the tree. Marla turns to her. “I planted this tree when I was only a little older than you. It’s a magic tree.”

In the moist brown earth, strong roots hold the dark soil together. They wrap around the dirt, packing the earth in tight. Above the ground stoops Marla, holding her children close. She weaves them a story that pulls them closer together. Then she releases them and they run to the tree and scramble into the branches. She laughs and whispers “Thank you, magic tree, for everything you do. But most of all, thank you for taking care of my children.”

In the moist brown earth, the roots’ hard work is paying off. Above the dark soil, the tree’s leaves are beautiful and green. Above the ground watches Marla, staring out at her children again. They are older now, and clever and good-looking. 17-year-old Kyson, too big for the branches, sits on the bench writing steadily away in a cloth-bound book. 15-year-old Magdalene sits in a bend in the branches, reading, and 14-year-old Lorelei sits on a higher branch, studying a leaf thoughtfully. Marla smiles. “You are so very special to everyone, Magic Tree.”

In the moist brown earth, the roots sag a little. It is the beginning of winter, and the final leaf flutters off the tree. Above the ground waves Marla, watching as Lorelei drives away, the last of her children to leave home. Her eyes trail after the car until it disappears into the distance, taking with it the warm presence that had remained in her house until now. She sighs, then she stoops and picks up the tree’s final leaf. “You and me both, Magic Tree.”

In the moist brown earth, the roots spread far and wide, strong and steady, thick and true. Above the ground is Marla, wrinkled Marla, resting with her hand on the trunk of the tree. They are both old and wise, they have grown together into something big and beautiful. They have fulfilled their purpose, stretched their roots through the earth, Marla and her tree. “One day,” Marla sighs. “One day soon, we will be one, Magic Tree. We were always meant to end up together. That’s the way it’s meant to be.”

And in the moist brown earth lies Marla, buried with the roots of her special Magic Tree.