The Carob Tree of Long Dreams

The carob tree stood at the edge of the field, dark and wide, with branches that seemed older than the road.

Tina liked sitting beneath it. She brought notebooks, stones, questions, and sometimes a slice of bread. One evening she said:

“I want my dream to happen tomorrow.”

The carob tree moved one leaf.

“What dream?”

“I want to make a garden, write a book, learn the guitar, travel, and have a house with a blue door.”

“That is not one dream,” said the tree. “That is a basket.”

Tina sighed. “Then I want the basket tomorrow.”

The carob tree let a pod fall at her feet.

“Open it.”

Inside were hard seeds, smooth and brown.

“These seeds sleep a long time,” said the tree. “They do not become shade in one morning.”

Tina was disappointed. “That is too slow.”

“Slow is not nothing.”

The tree told her its own story: first a seed in dry earth, then two small leaves, then years of wind, goats, rain, heat, and patience. No one had called it important when it was small. Yet now everyone used its shade.

Tina held a seed in her palm.

“What should I do with my basket of dreams?”

“Choose one seed for tonight.”

Tina chose the garden. The next morning she planted basil in a small pot. It was not a garden yet. It was one seed of the basket.

The next week she wrote three lines in a notebook. Not a book. One seed.

In the evenings she returned to the carob tree and reported.

The tree never hurried her. It only asked, “What grew today?”

Years would be needed for some dreams. Tina understood that. But she no longer felt empty while waiting. She had begun.

And beneath the carob tree, long dreams felt less far away.