The Man Who Paints the Trees

Jokul had never felt as overjoyed as at this very moment, After a bright green dream, the world around him was painted in every shade of green, from the darkest darks to the the lightest lights.

Ostara's imgaination lit the grove the previous night. Before that, all was dark and dull. Her smile vibrated within the spirit of each tree she touched. After a restful sleep, Jokul and Ostara wandered through the forest, enjoying the wondrous works they had created.
"Do you remember when you dreamed of me?” asked Ostara.
“How could I forget? You shimmered in shades of red and gold as you stood in the sunlight.”
“Don’t you wish you could do that to the trees?”
“Isn’t the green you dreamed enough to brighten the forest?”
“I think there should be more,” said Ostara.
Jokul thought to himself for a moment. He looked down at his fingers and then up at a low-lying branch on the tree. He touched his pointer finger to a leaf. It shimmered and changed from green to gold.
“As you wish,” he said.
“I like it. Do it again.”
Jokul reached out, touching his pointer finger to the tips of leaves. One by one, they turned, like blushing golden faces. Jokul paused for Ostara’s appoval.
“More!” she said as she bathed in the glow of the golden tree. He bent down and gathered a handful of dust. He pressed it tightly in his fist and then opened his hand. With his fingers pointed sharply outward, he held his hand just in front of his nose and exhaled with a great breath. A golden mist sprayed through the air, fluttering in the breeze. Dust particles landed on the outstretched leaves.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It is amazing,” she said.
“It’s just the breath of a dream,” said Jokul. He surveyed his newest masterpiece, a work of pure amazingness. Indeed, it was like nothing either of them had ever seen. The tree stood alone, as bright as the sun, yet as subtle as the old green trees, too.
Ostara reached out, taking Jokul Frosti by the hand. While her grasp was sweaty and warm, Jokul’s fingers chilled her.
“You’re so cold,” she said.
“I know.”
Her grasp, warm and tender, filled Jokul’s cold heart. He tagged along as she pulled him through the forest. His free hand trailed behind him, catching stray branches and pushing them out of the way. As he did, the leaves on each tree he touched from green to gold.
Likewise, Ostara reached out a freehand and dragged it across branches that lie in their way. A pathway formed in the woods. On one side, there were trees of gold, and on the other stood trees of the brightest green.
“Let us go tree-climbing,” suggested Ostara. She let loose of Jokul’s grasp and reached out to a high branch that she could not reach.
“Here, let me help you.”
Jokul intertwined the fingers on his hands and held them out, like a foot-basket. Ostara carefully tucked her foot into his hands as he lifted her up. She grabbed onto the lowest branch and pulled herself up.
“Here,” she said. Her hand reached down. Instead, Jokul simply crouched down and bounced up, grabbing onto the branch with both hands. He swung back and forth, then did flipped himself onto the branch next to Ostara.
As they climbed, higher and higher, the treetop swayed beneath their weight. Far below them, they could see the colors of trees, old and new.
Their climbing-tree, however, was many-colored. Some branches were old green and others were bright and new. Still, the leaves on other branches were bright gold.
“Look at our fancy design!” said Ostara. Jokul hopped off his branch and onto another. It shimmered and turned gold. Ostara hopped onto an old branch. The leaves shimmered and turned from dark to bright.
Jokul stepped carefully onto another branch and it wavered. He waved his hands in the air, trying to keep his balance. A foot slipped and he fell, down, down, down. His feet bounced upon a bending branch and tossed him, high into the air.
Jokul flew from one tree to another. He reached out, but missed the branches on the nearby tree. He bounced through the limbs, one-two-three and plopped to the ground.
“Are you okay?” shouted Ostara.
Jokul looked up from his spot on the ground and then hid his face. Like his face, the leaves on the tree turned crimson red.
“Are you blushing, my dearest Jokul?”
“No!” he called back.
Ostara climbed carefully through the branches of the green and gold tree. Down on the ground, Jokul buried his face in his arms. Only the points on his ears showed. They, too, were crimson red.
“Don’t worry,” said Ostara.She stretched a finger to his chin and pulled his face from the security of his folded arms. After the great fall, his face had blushed. And so it went, that whenever Jokul and Ostara climbed trees and either of them had a great fall, the trees blushed, like the face of a fallen tree-climber.