In the center of a small square, surrounded by colorful houses and bright flowers, there lived a very special tree. It was a large and strong oak, with long branches that looked like arms stretched out to embrace the sky. Its trunk was thick and covered in marks, as if each line told an ancient story. The children of the neighborhood called it “Don Roble,” because it was always there, still and patient, watching them play.
Every morning, when the sun began to shine, Don Roble would wake up with a smile. He didnât have eyes like people, but he could feel everything happening around him. He heard the laughter of the children, the sound of their feet running through the grass, and the thud of the ball when they kicked it. Though he couldnât move, he loved observing all these things from his spot in the square.
In the afternoons, when the sunâs heat softened, the children would come running to play. Some brought colorful kites that flew high in the sky, others played hide-and-seek among the bushes, and a few sat under Don Robleâs branches to read stories or share snacks. The old oak especially enjoyed those quiet moments when the children rested beside him and told him about their adventures.
âLook, my kite went higher than ever!â said MatĂas, a curly-haired boy who always wore a red scarf.
âAnd I found a huge snail under that rock!â added Virginia, pointing toward the garden.
Don Roble listened attentively. Sometimes, when the wind blew gently, he moved his leaves as if clapping. The children laughed and said:
âDon Roble is happy with us!â
But there was something Don Roble didnât fully understand: Why did the children run so much? Why did they fall and get back up so quickly to keep playing? He, who had been rooted in the same place for many years, couldnât imagine what it felt like to be free to move. So one afternoon, while the children rested in his shade, he decided to ask them a question.
âChildren,â whispered Don Roble in his soft voice, which only they could hear, âwhat does it feel like to run?â
The children looked at each other, surprised. They had never thought that a tree could talk.
âTo run?â repeated MatĂas, adjusting his scarf. âWell, itâs like flying, but with your feet on the ground. Itâs fun!â
âYes, and when you fall, you learn to get up faster,â added Virginia, showing her bandaged knee.
Don Roble thought about this for a moment. He liked the idea of learning something new every time something went wrong. But he still wanted to know more.
âAnd what does it feel like to jump?â he asked after a while.
âTo jump is like touching the clouds!â shouted Juan, the youngest of the group, hopping into the air. âItâs like escaping everything for a second.â
The children continued explaining things: what it felt like to climb a tree (though none dared to climb Don Roble because he was too big), how wet grass smelled after the rain, and how the stars looked over the square at night. Don Roble listened delightedly, imagining all of it in his mind.
As the days passed, the children noticed that Don Roble seemed happier than before. His leaves shone brighter in the sun, and his branches moved with more energy when the wind blew. They began to think that maybe, even though he couldnât run or jump, Don Roble also played in his own way.
One evening, as the sun began to set, Virginia had an idea.
âLetâs decorate Don Roble so he feels part of the game!â she said excitedly.
The children gathered colorful ribbons, shiny paper, and even some small lights they found at home. Carefully, they climbed ladders to hang the decorations on the lower branches. When they finished, Don Roble looked like a party tree. The lights twinkled softly, and the ribbons waved in the wind.
âNow youâre part of the team, Don Roble!â said MatĂas, giving the trunk a loving pat.
That night, when everyone went to sleep, Don Roble felt something special in his heart. Though he still couldnât run or jump, he knew he was already part of the childrenâs games. They included him, took care of him, and made him feel important.
From then on, every time the children came to play, Don Roble felt more alive than ever. And though time passed and the children grew up, they always returned to visit him. Because they knew that no matter how much the world changed, Don Roble would be there, waiting with his open branches and his trunk full of stories.
And so, the old oak continued to witness laughter, secrets, and adventures, reminding everyone that we can always be part of something beautiful.
End. đł
This work is licensed under
