All the Trees We Never Saw
Short story about presence, love, and the ordinary moments passing before us.
Every morning, at seven twenty, Noa boarded the train to Tel Aviv.
She was forty-two, a successful manager, a mother of two, and a woman who could no longer remember the last time she had been truly happy.
Her phone never stopped ringing. Messages from work, things to do at home, news, bills. Even when she closed her eyes, her mind kept working.
One morning, as she boarded the train, she noticed an elderly man sitting by the window.
The seat beside him was empty.
She sat down, opened her laptop, and began to type.
“Excuse me,” the man said. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she answered, without looking up.
“Do you know where you're going?”
“To work.”
“And where are you rushing to?”
“I have an important meeting.”
“And what happens when you get there?”
“There'll be another meeting.”
“And after that?”
Noa looked up at him impatiently.
“What are you trying to say?”
The man smiled.
“Nothing. I was just wondering when you were planning to arrive.”
She almost laughed. What a strange man.
At the next station, he stood up, wished her a good day, and got off.
Only then did she notice the small notebook he had left on his seat.
She opened it, hoping to find a name or a phone number.
On the first page, in a trembling hand, he had written:
“My wife and I took this train together for thirty-one years.
Every morning she would look out of the window and say to me: Look how beautiful the trees are today.
And I would say: Yes, yes, and go on reading the newspaper.
A year ago, she died.
Since then, I take the same train every morning, look out of the window, and try to see all the trees I never saw with her.”
Noa felt something tighten in her chest.
She closed her laptop.
For the first time in years, she looked outside.
The sun was just rising above the buildings. A small bird stood on a rooftop. Between two concrete buildings, a tree grew, its branches stirring in the wind.
Her phone vibrated.
She didn't pick it up.
Instead, she took a photo of the tree and sent her husband a message:
“I just saw something beautiful. I wish you'd been here with me. I love you.”
A moment later, his reply arrived.
“I'm in the kitchen. I've made sandwiches for the kids. Are you okay?”
Noa laughed and cried at the same time.
“Yes,” she wrote. “I think, for the first time in a long while, I'm really here.”
The next morning, she boarded the seven-twenty train again.
The elderly man wasn't there.
She placed the notebook on the seat beside her, saved his place, and looked at the trees.
And this time, she didn't have to lose anything to see them.
A Zen Question to Carry
How many times can you pass the same tree before seeing it for the first time?
Not every question needs an answer. Sometimes, carrying it is enough.
Zen wisdom
An original contemporary fictional story inspired by Zen and mindful attention to everyday life. Noa and the elderly man are literary characters; this is not a historical Zen teaching. The dialogue and reflection are original writing, not quotations from a Zen teacher.
We spend so much of our lives on our way to the next moment, as though our real lives were waiting for us at another station.
But life is not the destination we're rushing toward.
It is the landscape passing by the window while we're busy trying to arrive.
Perhaps today, even for a single moment, we can simply be here.
Questions & answers
+What is the message of "All the Trees We Never Saw"?
The story invites us to notice ordinary moments and the people we love, without waiting for loss to appreciate them.
+Is this a true story?
An original contemporary fictional story inspired by Zen and mindful attention to everyday life. Noa and the elderly man are literary characters; this is not a historical Zen teaching. The dialogue and reflection are original writing, not quotations from a Zen teacher.
+Which wisdom tradition inspired this story?
Zen — Zen wisdom. Direct pointing, before thinking.
What small, beautiful moment would you like to notice today?
