Two trees grew on opposite sides of the meadow. Each was strong
and beautiful, growing toward the same light. Their branches swayed in the wind, longing to touch the other, but the distance between them was too far, too
wide. The only way for them to meet was to grow upward. Their branches would meet only if they crossed paths at the sun, their common destination. Minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months, years, passed.
The two
trees grew taller, but the sun would not be reached, nor would their
branches touch. The intensity and heat was too great. They reached too high. The sun singed the trees’ leaves just before
the trees' branches burst into flames. The trees heard the other’s cries as
their bodies charred. Their roots cringed, grasping for safety, security, and hope in the meadow's soil. They burned
until only blackened silhouettes remained. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years,
passed.
The two trees took refuge in the soil as they mourned. Fog shrouded the meadow until the
trees could no longer see one another. They closed their eyes in defeat. Left
with only what they could feel, the two trees took notice. Their roots met beneath the safety of the soil. Not one, two, or three times, but an
entire network of roots grafted together over the years. The two trees took solace breathing in the soil together, though their branches never met. Minutes, hours,
days, weeks, months, years, passed.
