Poor Aurel was wrought with grief for his wife, Greta, who had died from black licorice overdose. He had spent all of their remaining money for her funeral. He had fashioned a beautiful coffin, just for her, because she had turned into a sphere and could not fit into a manufactured coffin. He steamed and bent the wood so that it curved into a round shape, reminiscent of a beautiful carriage, her vehicle into heaven. He decorated it with pieces of licorice shapes which he carved out of wood. He wanted it to be the most beautiful coffin ever made since her service required a closed coffin. Her tongue, lips, and finger tips had turned black from the licorice and Aurel did not want anybody to assume that she had succumbed to the black plague.

The neighbors brought strudels and smoked hams, jam and bread to the little house after the service. Aurel poured elderberry wine and they all toasted Greta, who had been a perfect wife before her weakness for black licorice had overtaken her. They commented on her culinary skills, how her jams were the best on this side of the mountain, how her sewing and embroidery were exceptional.

Aurel sighed a heavy and prolonged sigh after all the neighbors had gone. He sat alone in the empty little house that he had built with his very own strong back and calloused hands. He was lost. He did not know what to do with himself. He drank all of the remaining elderberry wine and stumbled into bed.

In a fitful dream, Aurel saw Greta, but she was almost 30 meters tall and as round and wide as the barn. She did not talk but roared at him for licorice. Even though she was not making words, Aurel knew what she was saying. She was berating him, demanding that he should provide her with more licorice. And then, without feet, all 30 meters of her, was rolling toward him faster and faster. He tried to run away but his feet were paralyzed from fear. He felt her soft plump flesh mold into him as it rolled over his entire body, pressing his face into the ground. He couldn’t breathe, his nostrils filling with dirt. He tried to scream but no sound came from his mouth. Instead, dirt just clung onto his tongue.

When Aurel awoke with a start, he found he was face down on his pillow. He had drooled a large wet circle onto it. He swiped his sleeve over his mouth and thought, thank goodness it was only a dream. He chided himself for letting a nightmare alarm him.

Aurel drew water from the well and washed his face and beard. He then gathered his axe and some bread and cheese and went into the forest. Today, I am no longer lost, he thought. I am a wood worker and I will create again. I will search for a tree that wants to be a something other than a tree. Aurel walked through the forest, gazing and sizing up different trees. But none spoke to him. He sat on the ground at the base of a tall pine and ate his bread and cheese.