Symbiotic
I was transfixed by the tree in front of me.
Its budding branches were crooked and elegant.
I hoisted myself onto its limbs and felt lighter with each step upward.
I stood higher and more powerful.
The wind swept in and pushed me to fly.
And every breath I breathed was sucked in by the tree,
and every shudder from the tree was sucked in by me.
Story of the Book
I once began writing a book when I was 10. After writing several pages, I made a decision. I went down the hill from our
house to the aging mansion at the bottom. I walked up the
stone path and went in through the side door. I made my way
through the halls, past the east wing, the library and into my
pastor's study. There he was at his desk, in his sunlit room on
this warm afternoon.
I greeted him and nervously expressed my desire to read the beginning of my book to our congregation. He began speaking about many things unrelated to my request and his words became muffled in my ears. My eyes drifted over to the corner of his desk and fixated on his clear plastic and green ant farm.
He asked me something.
I pulled my attention back to him. His one eye moved about as he asked me again, "why?"
I could only think to say something that would persuade him,
"Because God wants me to."
On Sunday, I read my story.