• Once upon a time, there was a forest. A vast and awe-inspiring view, I'm told. And in this forest, in the dead center, there was a tree.
    Now, this was no ordinary tree, no. For you see, this tree was hundreds of years old. Its roots spread through the entire forest, branching off into different stems and trunks and stalks. This tree was the forest. And it listened, and watched its children grow from tiny, delicate saplings into grand and magnificent giants, with leaves twisting together to form canopy after canopy. And it has been said, that when the sunlight hit these fronded shaded groves, the entire forest lit up in a green, breathtaking, and glorious light.

    One day, a weary traveller came upon this massive plantation, and took refuge from the cool rain underneath the tree's branches. He watched tiny chipmunks dart from grassy patches to take shelter inside the warmth of a bush. And in these bushes were birds' nests, with helpless and tiny baby birds awaiting their daily meals. He watched the mother birds fly from these bushes, soaring and spiraling into the branches and clouds above, and he watched the rain drizzle through the branches and make the chipmunks take shelter. All one big cycle. Everything connected in some way.

    Unfortunately, this man saw no beauty in this, only an opportunity to turn his miserable and poor life around. This man, with only a few pennies to his name, went to a seedy pawn shop. And in this dark and dreary shop, he purchased an axe. You probably know what will happen next. Yes, the selfish man took this axe and went back to the forest. He picked the first tree he saw and started to hack, hack, hack away at it. He did this for some time and realized that he was getting nowhere fast. He called his family, his friends and neighbors. These friends and family called their friends and family. And before the man knew it, there were contractors and big, rumbling, dirty machines. The man claimed the land as his own and sold part of it to the pompous management that dealt with these sorts of things. He watched as trees cracked and fell. He watched as terrified deer and birds fled in fright. He watched as nests crumbled under the fallen trees.

    But the man was not the only one watching this. For you see, the wise tree in the center of this forest was watching as its children and grandchildren fell. It watched as its family perished, sap leaking out from their bark as blood would spill out from a dying human. And so the tree wept. For it knew it was helpless against the ugly machines and stoic workers. But the tree still stood tall, and as it wept, more children and family fell to their deaths.

    Now, the man who brought all this upon the forest was absolutely ecstatic with his newfound riches and his vast plot of land. And so he moved to a big city somewhere, far away from the forest. He went to expensive shops. He purchased clothes to make him look important, furniture to clutter up his perfect new apartment, and various sundries that he did not need. He spent a lot of time in a particular shop. The very same shop that sold him his axe. As he browsed through the used and dusty old items, one caught his eye. A set of dishes, and as fate would have it, it was decorated elaborately with flowers and trees and other flora and fauna. The man was too distracted by the price tag to notice the blatant irony of this twist of fate. He picked up the expensive China, admiring the deep cracks. And so he bought the set, merely because it was expensive, exquisite, and would make him appear knowledgeable in the arts.
    As he was walking back to his new apartment, the man ran into a woman pushing a flower cart. Quite literally, actually. She apologized profusely to the man, kept repeating that it was her fault, and quickly walked away with her cart, in tears. The man was slightly discombobulated by what had just happened. But what he did notice was that the woman was very pretty. So he ran to catch up with her, and made what he thought was a smooth and suave pickup line. But the woman, tears flowing down her face, merely set her jaw and kept walking. And so the man asked the woman what the matter was, showing true compassion for the first time in his life. Immediately, the woman began sobbing and explained that her favorite forest was being destroyed. She told the man that that forest is where she got all of her beautiful flowers to sell. She said that under the tree in the very center of the forest was where her adoptive parents found her as a baby, wrapped in a blanket and tucked into a basket.

    The man soon put two and two together and realized that this woman was crying for the very same reason that he was rejoicing. All compassion suddenly left him, and told the weeping woman, "What a waste of beauty you are." I'm sure you're familiar with the saying, "If looks could kill". Well, if looks really could kill, this man would be dead faster than you could say... well, anything, really. She stormed off, pushing her flower cart, and leaving a trail of salty tears on the pavement.
    The man felt that this was no loss. After all, there were plenty of far more beautiful women in the world that would appreciate his successes and wealth. But still, there was a certain beauty in the fierceness of her eyes, and the man could not shake it. But he blocked it out with thoughts of what more useless things he could buy with his money. He strutted into a fancy clothing store with designer labels and designer price tags. As he swiped his credit card at the checkout, the cashier looked puzzled and asked him to swipe it again. Three more times he tried this, but they were declined each time. The man realized that he was out of money. Panicked, he ran out of the store to call the contractors. They told him that they did not want any more of his land. He called other people, he called everyone he knew, but no one would touch the forest.
    Laden with sadness and self-pity, he trudged back to his brand new apartment. It was bright in the apartment, the light reflecting off the whitewashed walls. As he stared into the light, it reminded him of the sun, which reminded him of plants and the forest. He closed his eyes and imagined the woman with the flowers, crying over what he had done.

    And then, it hit him.
    He knew what he had to do to make things right again.

    He sprinted to the nearest florist shop and spent his last pennies on hundreds of packets of flower seeds and a few saplings. Driving back to the forest, he planted everything he had bought where the fallen trees had once stood. The last of his fortune, literally buried in the ground. Fall turned to winter, and the man built a roof to keep the snow off the little flowers. The snow soon melted, and the harsh, brutally cold air turned to a crisp and fresh breeze. The man watched over his garden like they were his own children, and the tree at the center of the forest watched too. And the tree stopped its weeping, and began to smile.

    One day, the man returned to the forest to check on his garden's progress. And what he saw that day cannot be accurately described with words. Even photographs and drawings would do it no justice. What he saw were thousands and thousands of colors. Millions of giant petals, tiny leaves, long stems. These flowers which he had worked so hard to raise and protect, these flowers which gave this miserable man's life meaning and happiness, these flowers were his pride and joy. He carefully walked his way around the garden, careful not to step on anything, and he bent down and gently picked a single daisy. As as he twirled the flower in his hand, shimmering with morning dew, he closed his eyes and could not fathom how something so simple, so pure and clean and innocent, something so tiny, could bring him such joy. Behind him, he heard a rustle. He spun around and saw the woman from so many months ago. Smiling softly, the woman began to pick the flowers. Her eyes met his, and she mouthed the words, "thank you". And the tree whispered his thanks as well.

    The man and the woman made regular visits to the forest to tend to the flowers and have picnics underneath the bright green canopies of leaves. Years came and went, and soon, and third person joined them. A small baby girl. Daisy was her name. Named after the first flower held by the man when his heart finally broke free of its shackles and chains, bonded to money and objects. Soon, an energetic puppy joined them under the branches of the ancient tree. And the tree kept smiling, as he watched seasons pass and the kind-hearted humans that took great joy in the forest. The tree watched as this family protected the forest when others wished to destroy it. And the tree watched as the cycle of his kingdom, his forest, began anew. Chipmunks to bushes, bushes to nests, nests to birds, birds to skies, skies to clouds, and clouds to rain. Rain to chipmunks.

    And that, my friends, is the story of the wise old tree and the people whose lives he affected, just by existing. And remember this: you cannot change the past, just as you cannot bring fallen trees back to life. You cannot control the people around you, such as you cannot control the deaths of friends and loved ones. But what you can change is yourself. I am well aware that it is easier said than done, but changing yourself in order to change the future is possible. Shape your own future, and shape it into a future full of flowers, beauty, and love.