Wishtree

by Katherine Applegate

It’s true. I am an optimist. I prefer to take the long view on life. Old as I am, I’ve seen both good and bad. But I’ve seen far more good than bad.

So Bongo and I agree to disagree. And that’s fine. We’re very different, after all.

Hollows are proof that something bad can become something good with enough time and care and hope.

But sometimes things happen that aren’t so good. When they occur, I’ve learned that there’s not much you can do except stand tall and reach deep.

We grow as we must grow, as our seeds decided long ago.”

It is a great gift indeed to love who you are.

All skunks name themselves after pleasant scents. I am not sure if this is because they’re a bit defensive about their reputation, or if they just have a sly sense of humor.

“I’m sure things will be fine,” I said. “I’ve seen a lot in my years. The things

I’ve fretted about that have never come to pass! I could write a book.” I paused. “In fact, I could be a book.” I paused again. “Because, you know … paper is made of trees.”

I was worried about me, too. I didn’t want to leave the world I loved so much. I wanted to meet next spring’s owl nestlings. I wanted to praise the new maple sapling across the street when it blushed red as sunset. I wanted my roots to journey farther, my branches to reach higher. But that is how it is when you love life. And I could accept that if my time had come, it had come. After a life as fine as mine, who was I to complain?

“We grow as we must grow, as our seeds decided long ago.”

“Hmm.” “I don’t like it when you hmm. Hmm-ing leads to ideas.”

“My point,” Bongo continued, “is that the world’s a tough place. Doesn’t matter if you’re a bunny or a lizard or a kid.”

There’d been much bickering over which baby would get to assist us—but then, there’d been plenty of bickering ever since Francesca’s threat to cut me down. It frustrated me to see my residents, the ones who’d miraculously been getting along so well, turn on one another when faced with a problem.

Oh, the things I wanted to say to those two! I wanted to tell them that friendship doesn’t have to be hard. That sometimes we let the world make it hard.

Always and forever, the laughter kept them going.

But everyone needs to hope.

I’d broken the rule because I wanted something. I wanted to matter. I wanted to do something meaningful before I died. I’d done it for myself.

Because as each child, as each neighbor, as each stranger, placed a wish upon me, they looked at Samar and her parents and said the same thing: “STAY.”