During my daily commute, there is a tree I face on the other side of the train tracks. Back in late May, when most trees had blossomed, this tree was virtually bare. Two years prior, I discerned a railroad spike lodged in a branch. Subsequently, I was convinced this iron thorn had poisoned the tree and inhibited any type of growth. The few leaves that did emerge were brown and withered. I assumed this was the end of the road for this tree. However, several weeks ago, the tree began sprouting leaves like crazy. Throughout the week, broad, green leaves budded and covered nearly every visible branch. Without a doubt, this tree was alive and in five years, more exquisite than I had ever imagined.
I'm not a great philosopher or wise man and I'm not proficient with analogies and morals but observing this tree everyday reminds me of the necessity for love. Although I still have issues with religion, trivial events like this inspire me and reaffirm my wavering faith in miracles. To me, this tree symbolizes love, life and faith. While the following line is cliché it is reasonably pertinent: even when you think all hope is lost, there is a miracle. I just wanted to share this small story with everybody.