BY indefiniteloop

“In the meadow, on the morrow’s morn, there stood a tree. It was an old tree, and it had nothing special going on for it. It was a lonely tree, and it hugged the ground dearly as it stood there, in that field; much like a sore thumb sticking out of the ground. And, suddenly after sometime the mist rolled in from either side of the tree; it was there to cover it all up. This mist was called upon by these other trees that stood tall; they stood proud, and tall in the forests to the right, and to the left of that shunned tree. This mist was also made with the help of those rainy, thunderous clouds. What the sky, and earth couldn’t foresee or realize was that, that lonely tree was nourished in the process; it was made whole, and beautiful because of that uncalled for mist. It was as if that lonely tree was not growing in a marshy meadow, but on a sea of clouds that had come down to dance with it, while the heavens showered it with delight. “ —

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