05/03/2026
In a peaceful valley, where the sun gently caressed the fields and the wind made the leaves whisper, stood an ancient apple tree. It was tall and strong, its roots deeply anchored in the earth, its branches stretching far toward the sky.
One day, a young traveler came to rest beneath its shade, gazing thoughtfully at the tree’s crown. He admired the red apples glistening in the sunlight, yet a question weighed on his heart.
“Old tree,” he asked softly, “what happens to you when your apples fall? Is that not the end of your fruit?”
The tree rustled gently in the wind, as if laughing. “No, young traveler,” it replied. “It is only the beginning.”
The traveler furrowed his brow. “How can that be? When the apples fall to the ground, they rot. They dissolve. Is that not death?”
The tree let an apple drop, and it landed softly in the grass. “Look closely,” it said.
The traveler crouched down and observed the apple. At first, it was firm and fragrant, but over time, it began to decay. The earth absorbed it, insects carried parts of it away, and its flesh nourished the land. But as the traveler looked closer, he saw something hidden inside—the seeds.
“Do you understand now?” asked the tree. “My apple may perish, yes—but it passes on life. The seeds carry my essence within them, and when the time is right, a new tree will grow from them. My life does not end—it merely changes form.”
The traveler closed his eyes. He thought about his own life, about his fear of the end. But now, he saw it differently: Death was not a final extinguishing, but only a transformation. Just as the sun sets only to rise again, just as the sea carries a wave away only for it to reappear elsewhere.
He stood up and placed a hand on the tree’s rough bark. “Thank you, old friend. Now I understand.”
And as the leaves danced in the wind, the tree spoke softly:
“And so I am here, to pass on this knowledge again and again, so that it is never lost.”
