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A Parable of the Fruit Tree I was half asleep this morning and had a short dream. I saw an old fruit tree in the garden which I was told my father planted when I was born over 3 scores ago. The tree stands quietly but majestically near the fence with its branches stretching outwards offering its fruit to anyone passing by. It always attracted young lads eager to climb and pluck the sweet hanging fruit or pick those that had fallen to the ground. Through the years, the tree bore such sweet fruit to those that came near it. My old man even hang a swing from one of its massive branches bringing delight and a welcoming shade from the scorching sun on bright hot summer days. When we were grown up, the swing still stayed hanging but brought fun to the young boys who braved climbing the old tree to steal some of its fruits. But what made the tree so attractive was a sweet scent it exudes at night; some would say a fairy dwells within the old tree. And once a year, beautiful orange flowers would blossom from its twigs similar to the Bajan flamboyant. It was always a sight to behold. But the old tree, for all its elegance and bounty, did not have a heart. Until one day, I discovered etched on its bark a heart initialled SJ and PG. It stood there though the bark had grown dry and the marking withered by time as the seasons passed. Even if the birds’ nests atop the tree no longer draw the avian creatures. But somehow the leaves continued to fall and sprout back, the fruits and bright orange flowers continued to bloom, and the little boys still climb its outstretched branches. Then I woke up and thought what the dream was about. It dawned on me, the tree are the tales in the book we wish to leave behind…that some young boys and girls may read someday.