Tuesday, February 1, 2011


The young Maple Tree cast a pathetic shadow over the back lawn. I used to see it from class.

The Large Oak and Walnut held their majesty and gave little recognition for young Maple. After all young maple could not cover, could not shade, and did little to stand against the wind.

Maple grew taking its place among the Oak and Walnut skyscrapers. Her persistence and patience kept her strong as the seasons resonated their temperaments. Time, seemingly the only difference between birth and death.

Drought bled the life from Oak and walnut. The dry cold branches stood lifeless in the moon's shadow. A better use for them; maybe to keep us warm.
But maple held her fruit. her branches were lush. Green life spread out from Maples core. It was four. Time to pray. As many gather to kneel, they fell to the ground each eye soaked with tears for a lost soul.

It wasn't always this way. As years had passed the group had grown. Every week at four at the maple tree. Their influence shallow and weak.The majesty of secular human thought nourished each young heart to walk away from their creator.

In the beginning, the young prayer group, helpless and alone, not able to give comfort and rest; prayed. They gathered in pathetic numbers casting pathetic prayers over lost souls that walked on that back lawn.

But now, many are no longer lost, many are growing. There is a feast at the maple tree where the burning branches of Oak and Walnut kept us warm.

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