I was reciting a myth that had to do with divine judgement and justice, right behaviour against strangers and deep love. All this was incorporated into two trees: oak for the man, lime tree for the woman.
Apollon and Daphne (again Ovidian)
Apollon fell in love with Daphne, a beatiful mountain nymph, son of the river god Peneios. This love was no fine love, it was a revenge: Once upon a time Apollon had ridiculed Cupido – and to ridicule or disrespect a god is never a promising thing. In a very bad temper Cupido took two arrows out of his quiver: the golden, sharp one arouses love, the blunt one made of lead makes every feeling of love flee out of the mind. And zip! the golden one into Apollon's heart, zap! the lead one into Daphne's heart.
Strong emotion can be a god who does no god. Daphne lives in the woods, hunts game, dresses like the huntress-goddess, Apollon's own sister. And like Artemis she asks her father to remain unmarried, to have eternal virginity. And like Zeus her father grants her this wish.
Apollon, of course, can't think of anything else than Daphnes beauty, Daphne's warm skin, her tender embrace, her flowing, ambrosial hair. He wants her. He is burning with desire, consumed by the fire of love.
Alas, she flees him. He runs after her, shouting: „I'm not your enemy, don't flee me! Don't hurt yourself in your flight! I will follow you slower, but don't hurt your foot! You just don't know who I am: I can foresee and tell the future, I am master of all remedies and herbs – woe is me, that there is no remedy against love!“
Daphne is fleeing even faster, her hair is loosened by the wind, so is her dress. The pursueing god is aroused even more to see her beautiful, sweaty back before his very eyes. But powers leave Daphne as she reaches the river Peneios. With a pale face she sinks to her knees and prays: „Dear father, if you rivers have powers, let devour me earth, on which I too much pleased. Or change this body that aroused love too much!“
And so it happens: Her breast is covered with bast, her hair turns into leaves, her arms grow into branches, her formerly fast feet stick into the earth with roots, only her shining beauty remains. Apollon embraces her still beating breast, tries to kiss the warm wood, but the wood flees his kiss. „As you can't be my bride, be my tree. My lyre, my quiver, my hair shall always be adorned with you, my beloved!“ And the bay laurel that once was Daphne to this words seemed to nod her green crown.