There is, in the Forest Forevermore, a tree or two you’ll find, some say three, or more. Upon them you may find so many knots, filled of, covered, sealed in mud. Within them one finds grass, or flowers, keepsakes and trinkets, baubles of all means and measures within each, There are so few Secret Trees left in this world. So many have fallen, cut down, died. And when the secret sticky muck comes unstuck, so too does that which tends to hide. Upon the world, fell ghosts of ages past, fresh spirits rising anew to exact revenge, enrapture a soul or walk the Earth alone.
Some say that the first secret was the whisper of a butterfly into a flower’s ear. No truly, it is about a caterpillar’s whisper into a tree’s ear. Caterpillar had been munching upon a leaf, when Caterpillar smelled in the air, (caterpillar’s have impeccable noses by the way) the most beautiful thing Caterpillar had ever smelled in Caterpillar’s life. Caterpillar asked the tree Caterpillar called home what the smell was. Tree didn’t know, but knew someone who did. So Tree asked Mud, that knew all things, about the smell. Mud could not smell, but knew of all things in the world for Mud was very old, and knew of the smell called Flower. Upon hearing, Caterpillar lamented, and whispered to Tree, “I am just a lowly Caterpillar…”
The Tree kept Caterpillar’s secret, and without it Caterpillar decided to venture out on a great journey to find flower. Caterpillar ate one last big meal for the road but drifted off to sleep instead. Dreams about Flower, and how far the road must be, and in Caterpillar’s dreams Caterpillar seemed to traverse the distance, only further and further, but the further Caterpillar traveled, the easier it became. It took everything that Caterpillar had, stretched everything, within, out, as far as Caterpillar could, until Caterpillar’s fat, lardy body had spread itself thin.
Butterfly woke up within a small cell, trapped, Butterfly banged around the cell to get out, shouted and roared. After awhile, Butterfly began to cry; Butterfly might never find Flower. Butterfly’s tears flowed through wings, Butterfly didn’t know Butterfly had. Butterfly pushed against the walls with new wings- nothing. Butterfly pushed again, sweat poured through new wings- crack! Light poured through the crack in the cell, Butterfly could smell Flower, used new eyes to spy around. Butterfly pushed some more, but nothing more. Butterfly got cut on the opening in the push, Blood flowed through new wings, and tried again- CRACK! Butterfly was free, and followed the scent to Flower, Butterfly was a little shy, but whispered a secret in Flower’s ear. Flower smiled and whispered back. The rest, well that’s another story.
A happy ending? Maybe. Butterfly is still alive. So is that Flower. The Tree still keeps Butterfly’s secret: “I am just a lowly Caterpillar…” and many, many more secrets than that. How have I come upon these secrets? They call me many things, but I am not The Secret Keeper, but Secrets are my trade.
Why am I telling you? Well, let’s just say my employer would like to… have a talk with Butterfly, and… well, my hand’s been forced- hasn’t it? My employer likes to send a message, know what I mean? Now if’n’ you happen to see Butterfly, tell Butterfly, fact, tell anyone. “The secrets are out.”