Light footsteps tapped Zaitouna's roots. Giggle-voices floated up from the path.
Zaitouna stretched her branches wide and rustled her leaves. 'Come, little ones,' she whispered to the wind.
A boy with drum shoes tapped a rhythm. A girl with painted sandals danced a circle. A small child waddled behind with a red balloon.
They laughed and spun under Zaitouna's branches. Pop went the balloon, and silence fell. Each child looked away.
The boy stomped. The girl crossed her arms. The small one held the balloon string and looked down.
Zaitouna creaked softly and let fall three fat green olives. They rolled to each child's toes. All three looked up.
They shared the olives. Crunch. 'This is good,' said the girl. The boy beat a happy rhythm and the small one climbed into a low crook.
They gathered beneath Zaitouna's oldest branch as the sun painted the village gold. She held them like a big quiet hug.