Why the Spruce and the Pine Stay Green

Autumn came. A cold wind began to blow, and the birds gathered to fly to warmer lands.

"Let’s fly, let’s fly south!" they called to one another.

But one little bird could not fly. She had hurt her wing, and it just would not flap. The birds flew away, and she was left alone in the forest.

"Winter is coming soon," peeped the little bird. "I will ask the trees. Surely one of them will take me in."

Hop-hop, she hopped over to the birch. The birch stood white, in golden leaves.

"Dear birch, dear birch, let me stay the winter! My wing hurts and I cannot fly."

"Oh no," rustled the birch. "I have birds of my own. They are the ones I help."

The little bird sighed and hopped on. Hop-hop, and there stood a great oak.

"Dear oak, dear oak, let me stay the winter! My wing hurts and I cannot fly."

"Certainly not!" rumbled the oak. "You will peck up all my acorns. Off you go."

Hop-hop, and there stood a willow by the river.

"Dear willow, dear willow, let me stay the winter! My wing hurts and I cannot fly."

"We do not talk to strangers," said the willow, and she turned her branches away toward the water.

The little bird grew very sad. She sat down on the cold ground and fluffed up her feathers. Around her it was getting darker, and around her it was getting colder.

Suddenly someone called out:

"Little bird! Come over here!"

It was the spruce, dark green and covered in soft needles.

"Live on my branch," said the spruce. "It is the warmest one I have."

The little bird climbed onto the branch and tucked herself in among the needles. Oh, how warm it was!

Creak-creak, the tall pine bent down to them.

"The spruce will keep you warm, and I will shield you both from the North Wind."

And down below, a small juniper stirred.

"The spruce will warm you, the pine will shield you, and I... and I will feed you berries all winter long!" And she showed her little blue berries.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" the little bird chirped to all three.

That very night the North Wind came to the forest. He was so cold that he whistled: "Wooo!" Behind him walked the Frost King, tall, in a white fur coat, with a beard of rime and a crown of icicles. Wherever he stepped, the snow rang softly.

"King," whispered the Wind, "may I touch every single leaf in the forest?"

The Frost King looked around. He saw the birch, the oak and the willow. Then he saw the spruce, the pine and the little juniper, and among the branches a little bird, sleeping peacefully in the warmth.

"Touch them," said the King. "But not all of them. The trees that were kind to the little bird shall stay green. Leave their needles alone."

Whoooosh! the Wind blew. Yellow leaves came tumbling from the birch, red ones from the oak, silvery ones from the willow. They stood bare until spring.

But the spruce, the pine and the juniper stayed green, green, green, as if it were not winter at all.

All winter the little bird lived in the warmth, pecked at the berries and listened to the Wind howling somewhere far away, beyond the pine.

And so it has been ever since. Every autumn the birch, the oak and the willow drop their leaves, while the spruce, the pine and the juniper stay green even in the fiercest frost. For the frost does not undress those who kept a little one warm in the cold.