There is a little tree

It's alone.  It's stands in clearing atop a high ridge, clinging to life.  It's free and clear, our little tree and enjoys the hours of sunshine and abundant rains.  There is no shade to block it.  There is no obstacle to block it.  But it stays little.  For to grow big risks everything.  

There is a little tree on a washout basin, a rockslide basin.   When the mountain rumbles it takes everything in it's wake.  And the little tree with its little soil and roots would not stand a chance the next time the mountain moves.   But it grows, it perseveres and hopes.

Before our little tree there were other little trees and they are gone now, relics to our memory of hope.  And tomorrow there will still be a little tree.  Just maybe not ours. 

But today, there is a little tree.