http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/snow-japan-blue-pond/

This was the third snowstorm in two weeks. A calm, white blanket covered the Company town on the banks of the frozen ponds. In the small, comfortable homes the Company had built ten years ago, hearths roared with warming fires. Smoke rose in thin, uneven columns from chimneys that sprouted from steeply pitched roofs. Along the picturesque pond-front street, most families were just finishing up dinner.

“Mom, can I have a cookie?”

“You have to finish those potatoes.”

“I’d rather the red ones,” the daughter said primly. But she speared the last few baby potatoes and ate them anyway.

“Duh’n,” she said, mouth still mostly full.

“Come on, Cara. Mouth closed until you’re done chewing.”

With a great effort, Cara managed to close her mouth over the overflowing half-chewed potato flesh. As she slowly worked her jaw through the last barrier between her and cookies, she looked out the back window toward the pond. Her eyes went wide.

“What is it, dear?” her mom asked, following the young girl’s gaze. “Ah. They’re back.”

Outside, along the banks of the snow-covered, icy pond, trees had appeared. They were leafless and quiet. The woman was not sure if they were real or echoes of something long past.

They had not appeared in the early years. After the Company had cleared the area for the houses, business boomed. Her own husband had been cheered as he directed their efforts with quiet competency. Day after day, year after year, they farmed the endless forest for homes, for machines, for fuel.

The woman turned and looked at the stove situated at the corner where kitchen and den met. Farmed the endless forest for firewood, too, she reminded herself.

The forest, of course, was not endless. They ended it in hardly any time at all. And her husband, the Company champion, the rising star, was tasked with finding the trees. He left on a Very Important Mission – locate the trees and report back. One day in high summer, he set out with a large pack on his back, a hatchet on his hip and a frown on his face.

On that day, he kissed his daughter goodbye and told her he’d be home soon. He kissed his wife next and told her no such thing. He handed her an envelope, sealed, and said, “Don’t open it until you know you should.”

At the first snowfall in early winter, the ghost trees had appeared. In the height of a storm, when visibility was lowest and when nothing stirred out in the cold and the quiet, they emerged from the dark. The Company had, predictably, taken the official position of silence. They made no remark on the trees’ appearance, and they wordlessly encouraged the Company families to follow their lead.

“Are they real trees?” The daughter asked before crunching into a cookie. They sound startled her mother. She hadn’t noticed the girl stand up and retrieve her dessert.

“I don’t know, dear.”

“Shouldn’t we go check?” It was a question of purpose, but the daughter asked in a way that suggested she meant shouldn’t her mother go check while she herself ensured the cookies were still edible.

“Maybe,” the woman answered as she thought about all the trees the Company had felled in this place that was once a forest. “But not tonight.”

Eventually the cookie was gone, and the trees did nothing more miraculous than get snowed on. The mother took the daughter upstairs, and read her a fairy tale and wished desperately the girl would not ask when her father would be home.

“When is dad coming home?” the girl asked between yawns.

The woman kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Soon. He’s on official Company business. Very important stuff. He said to say he misses you very much.”

“Me too,” the daughter said as she rolled over. The woman clicked off the lights.

Downstairs, the woman looked out the back window and fingered the unopened envelope. She hadn’t heard from her husband in 3 months. When she asked, the Company said everything was progressing, he was still in pursuit of the trees, he was doing well. But in the early days, he’d sent letters directly to her to say those very things.

Once the letters stopped, she had considered opening the envelope. She wasn’t sure what feeling had stopped her. Maybe she didn’t want to see on the paper the terrifying things she’d imagined he’d written there. Things about a dissatisfied life, about starting over somewhere else, about falling for someone else. Worse, she worried she would open the envelope, unfold the paper inside to find it blank. No hints, no clues, just a missing husband and the Company’s word to keep her sane.

“The hell with it,” she muttered to herself and tore the envelope open.

She unfolded the note, read it, and nodded. Without hesitation, she walked to the hallway and grabbed her heavy coat. At the door, she tugged on her thick boots. As quiet as she could, she pushed open the back door and walked out into the night, through the snow, toward the ghost trees.

The note lay open on the kitchen table.

I’m going to find the trees. Someone has to warn them.
I’ll send help when I can.
When I do, have the courage to accept it.