Upon it soon came a few flecks of white: clean, yet strong. That of which soon took the form of a sizeable, irregular column in the array of violet that loomed from behind it. It was tall, formidable, but not quite perfect.
Then appeared wrapped around its base, were of the same consistency, but writhed down deep, and around, and pulled it into place.
Out from its superior aspect branched out a few of these smaller ones, white, imperfect, which soon quickly gave away what it was supposed to be.
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| (c) Angela Debuque 2012 Oil Pastels on iPad application. |
A tree.
Then came a multitude of deep and bold colors that added volume, definition, and fortitude to what has been conceived in the sea of royal color.
It was a strong and beautiful tree.
Years went by, storms bellowed through, and branches were cut off. But there, it stayed.
If only it won't allow the storms to blow it down again, and if only no more of its branches would ever be cut off.
To dig its roots down deeper, to bask in the Son, and to soak in the Rain. If all done, the tree can be the best that it ought to be.
If any of these will cease, the tree will start to wither, and it may begin to lose its hold.
Now if this tree grows and flourishes, generations will continue to see its glory, its splendor, its fruit, and its shelter.
This will always leave people wondering Who planted it, for this was no ordinary tree.
