A Fruitful Tree

The crimson berries compliment the greenness of the leaves on the petite tree, its bark a smokey gray speckled with white. It seems strange that berries would grow only now, on branches that will soon be barren as the winter winds settle in.

For a whole year this tree has silently waited, with only all too common green leaves to adorn its limbs. As spring encourages the flowers to bloosom and the other trees proudly display them for all to see, this tree, this humble little tree, has nothing of the sort to parade. No, instead it waits. And in summer as all the hearty, stout trees find the neighborhood children scurrying up their trunks, the youthful laughter filling the air, this tree is given no portion of the attention. No, instead it waits.

And as the fall rolls in, painting the leaves a kaleidoscope of yellow, red, and orange, the leaves of this tree differ not a shade. Eventually winter cuts through and steals the natural works of art, casting them to the ground. For the little that remains, time eats away at, until the muddy brown leaves fall to the earth. Their branches are naked, no longer a source of beauty to marvel at. It is during this time, however, just as hearts begin to droop, and the winter promises to be unending, the humble tree reveals its true glory. Clusters of scarlet red berries ordain its branches, and suddenly the fog that entangled hearts is cleared, and once again we are reminded of the promise of spring. This winter will not last forever, and there is a hope yet to be fulfilled. And so, the purpose of the tree is finally understood. It was not made to bear flowers, or give shade, or even to act as a merry playground. It was made to remind us of the promise that all things will be made new again, and that during even the most distitute of seasons, there is a reason to hope. If we can just presevere, there is a beauty waiting for us to drink in and enjoy.