For every life that grows toward the light,

and every hand that reaches down to lift.

And for every empty cheer

that still needs true seeing,

every high place

that still needs mending below,

and for every living water

that finds the lowest root.

With thanks to Original Tall Tellers:

J.R.R. Tolkien "The Lord of the Rings"

Ted Prior "Grug"

and every quiet seed that learned to walk

Hai Ikthiss ruled the jungle from atop the tall tree.

He was the first tree in the valley.

When the valley was empty, he stood alone.

Rain found him first.

Then grass.

Then birds.

Soon the valley filled with life.

A howler monkey lifted his call and cried,

“Lord Ikthiss is the tallest!

We are lucky he stands for us!”

Everyone cheered.

No one looked up into his eyes.

A tapir ambled up, solid and strong.

“Lord Ikthiss is the strongest root!”

he said. “Everyone thank the tree!”

They thanked the shade.

They thanked the height.

They did not thank the heart inside the wood.

A toucan called from a branch.

“Look how grand our Lord Ikthiss is!

So high! So giving!”

The praise grew loud as rain.

But Hai felt a hollow place

high in his middle,

like a cup no one had filled.

He could have asked for more cheers.

He could have shaken his branches

until every creature bowed lower.

He did not.

He only listened to the spring

and felt the hollow cup wait.

Something in him wanted a hook

to the ground — a living join —

not more noise from below.

That night Hai sat with the stars in his leaves.

He let the hollow cup stay.

He did not fill it with louder praise.

He did not tip it onto anyone else.

Slowly the hollow softened,

like dry earth when first water finds it.

He began to understand it.

Next morning the valley still cheered.

Hai Ikthiss still gave shade and fruit and quiet rain-catch.

Nothing big had changed outside.

But everything felt clearer inside.

He was beginning to know

what the hollow cup was for.

It was not for collecting praise.

It was for pouring himself down.

He spent the day sending extra water

to the smallest roots and thirstiest ferns.

When he finished he smiled a tree-smile.

The gifts were large.

The thanks were loud.

The knowing was enough.

From that day, when the hollow cup tried to grow again,

Hai stayed still until it became quiet.

He just stayed Hai.

And he began to plan a smaller way.

Hai Ikthiss ruled the jungle from atop the tall tree.

Then one quiet morning he climbed down.

He left the crown empty of his face

and walked the ground as a living walking seed.

The animals found him among the melons.

“Who are you?” they asked.

“You can call me Kai,” he said,

and smiled a patient seed-smile.

That afternoon his friend, a young armadillo named Pip,

hurried through the garden looking behind him

and knocked over the best melon vine.

The big melon split open on the ground.

Seeds and sweet juice spilled everywhere.

Pip froze.

His shell trembled.

“I ruined it,” he whispered.

“You will be angry. Everyone will be angry.”

Some highland folk gathered.

“Make him go away,” muttered a coati.

“He should bring three new melons,” said an agouti.

Kai looked at the broken vine.

He looked at Pip’s worried eyes.

He did not raise his voice.

He did not point his finger.

He picked up a digging stick

and began to make soft earth ready.

“Come,” said Kai gently.

“We plant new seeds together.”

Pip blinked.

Then he came close.

Together they planted.

Together they watered.

Together they built a little fence of twigs

so no one would step there again by mistake.

While they worked, Pip told Kai

he had been running because bigger creatures

had been chasing him and laughing.

He had not seen the vine.

The next days Pip came every morning.

He became the best water-carrier in the valley.

The new vines grew strong,

even stronger than the old ones,

because two friends cared for them.

When other small accidents happened

(as they always do),

Kai remembered the melon.

He helped the one who felt hurt.

He also stayed kind to the one who had done the bumping.

No one was sent away.

No one carried a long heavy hurt.

They just tended to what was broken

and the friendship felt sturdier,

right at the mended place.

Hai Ikthiss learned, walking as Kai,

that a garden, and a friendship,

do not stay alive by never breaking.

They stay alive by being gently put back together.

Hai Ikthiss ruled the jungle from atop the tall tree.

Two years had turned.

He was home in the crown again.

But the valley had changed its song.

Creatures who once cheered

now whispered at the roots.

“He is too high,” they said.

“What if the tall one wants too much?”

A glossy scarlet macaw with grand tail feathers landed nearby.

“Stay low,” said the macaw.

“Tall things fall. Grand feathers know best.”

Some younger animals nodded hard.

They always nodded when the macaw spoke.

His fear sounded as grand as his feathers.

Later a very old owl spoke in a slow soft voice.

“I remember Kai,” he said.

“The small seed who planted with Pip.

Kind hands do not change when they grow tall.”

A few animals turned away

because the owl was not famous.

Hai listened all the way down his trunk.

Hai Ikthiss did not shout them quiet.

He did not shake the macaw from the branch.

He stepped out of still wood

and became a walking tall tree —

long kind limbs, deep root-feet,

a face they could meet at last.

Not to tower.

To come near.

Some animals stepped back.

Pip did not.

Pip remembered the melon

and the digging stick

and the new seeds.

Hai bent like a bridge of wood and kindness.

“Come,” he said.

“Not under me.

With me.”

He lifted Pip first —

not to show power,

but to share the view.

Then he lifted the owl.

Then the ones who had feared him.

Even the macaw, when the macaw was ready.

Each friend rose to Hai’s height

and became a giant with him —

same face, same heart,

only the eyes now level with the far hills.

From the high quiet air

they saw the whole valley at once —

the jungle pool, the old garden,

the places praise had been loud

and the places fear had been small.

Hai felt peaceful.

He did not need the tallest cheer.

He only needed true friends

who could see as far as love can see.

As long as someone was free to say

“I was afraid”

and still be lifted welcome,

the far sight could keep walking

on many strong legs.