I often visit Alderwise, the ancient oak who stands at the heart of the Enchanted Forest.
His branches creak with wisdom, and his leaves shimmer with quiet knowing. One morning, I hopped to him in a flurry of frustration—my garden wouldn’t grow no matter how often I checked it, watered it, or whispered encouragements.
Alderwise smiled that slow, kind smile of his. “Patience, Leafy,” he said, “isn’t waiting for something to happen—it’s trusting that it will.” Then he closed his eyes and simply listened to the breeze, as if listening helped things become themselves.
I sat beside him for what felt like forever. The forest whispered, the wind danced, and the sun stretched across the moss. A bee stitched the air with golden thread. When I finally looked up, a small sprout had broken the soil beside me. Alderwise opened one eye and chuckled softly, like bark warming in spring.
“See, Leafy,” he murmured, “growth has its own rhythm.”
Since that day, I’ve learned to let the garden grow in its time. I tend, I trust, I wait—and patience rewards me with beauty I might have hurried past. Alderwise didn’t just teach me to wait—he taught me to believe, and believing makes waiting gentle.
