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List of 2005 stories

The Chronicle of a Tree

I am a simple wild plum tree.
I have a hope and a commitment as well as a dream.
One day when my time comes I shall join the many and the most beautiful of trees, less humble than myself, and those bearing different fruits every month of the year. My displays and endeavours will pave the way to Paradise for me.
And I shall find the place allotted to me on one side or other of the River. The trees of knowledge will be restored there from all fear as is promised to all who live and work to His praise and glory. I know that my place in the environment on earth is equal to that of man himself even if every other creature and wildflower creates a balance for the rest. I take in man's poisons, recycle them and breathe out instead at night, the sweet, sweet oxygen of survival.
So many trees yet few are chosen. My early history is not known to my family who owned the property for fifteen years of my life.
Thirty years ago when my family came I had grown a strong black, divided trunk planted in front of a red brick pillar with a fence of heavy black wire which may have been a slight impediment to my growth. For some reason or because the Lord required it of me, I grew fairly tall, ten to fifteen feet, but away from the light, not to it, and over towards the lawn, the white house at Kingston Beach.
I gradually followed the trend, towards the house, and grew almost a ceiling creating a variety overhead of twelve different displays of my talent. I almost reached the sitting room window which I always protected and where the desk was placed diagonally in front of it. I never resented anything in my life, not the startling yellow English marigolds placed on the desk or the tiny Cecil Brunner rosebuds from the back garden. It was a pleasure where I looked through the window.
I wasn't pruned much or encouraged to change much for which I am grateful. As a healthy tree, I did not tolerate bugs or slugs. I loved the black sandy soil, my roots going down into the fine loam ensuring my very real stability.
The birds visited but not a lot: There were few gardens to attract them even when fruit was one of the cycles I presented and my few large thorn, distributed thinly, stopped our cat and others from seeking entertainment or refuge in my branches.
Persons looking out in their garden would see the beauty and the myriad of black boughs, delicate but bare and now with the light no longer obscuring my foliage. And still we had the privacy where it was needed and expected of me. If my family did not show me a lot of attention, the sign of wonder was in their eyes at the splendour of all my seasons, expecting no doubt, the usual four. There was invariably something of me new to see. I surprised them every time, every year and with every seasonal difference.
I had so many attributes, all personal and distinctive and all related, I know, to a very great conception. I was proud to be the mechanism by which my role was executed and my deepest hope now is that because I found my own qualities for myself, and rather unexpected too, my commitment to my destiny is made manifest in every- thing I produce and in my remaining labour to this end.
In the Spring the white flowers appear on the black branches; bridal, prolific and always my pride to share. Green shoots follow; green leaves next; red tips appear. There are red and green leaves, red leaves, plum coloured leaves and deep purple leaves. Purple plums hang among leaves of same hue, small but edible as the local youth rationalise and raid them.
Nine seasons you will say. No tree or man knows the nature of deliverance and what rejuvenation entails. If the Lord has new functions for me, he will fulfil them in his time, which will be my time also.
I think the new owner will fell me. The horror. The terror, but if it is different fruit, different flowers leaves or thorn or any other task, design or aspiration to be required of me, I don't know. I don't need to know. I need only the faith, a shower of rain and my service to find at last, THE CRYSTAL RIVER.