As a child, once wild and free, my friend and I, while at play near a stream that divided our two homes, found at its mouth, an old oak.
"This is the Oak of Wisdom", I told my friend, remembering the stories my father would tell me before bed. The stories were often the premise to a dream so sweet; my father's pitch and emphatic pauses enthralled my malleable mind and it often ended with the phrase, "What happened next Papa?" The branches, he told me, were the extended hands of our ancestors, offering lessons from a life once lived. Its leaves there to praise, giving glory to the Gardener for life's many joys; a cool breeze, a kiss from the sun, and rain that would quench its thirst for more knowledge.
Every so often he would explain to me about the fruit of the tree, saying that it would only produce one seed every generation, lest mankind would become ravenous and cut it down. "This seed, my son, is the seed of destiny, although it is rare to find, those who will, discover life's true purpose."