The Hands of the Earth- M.O.P.A

The sky was as clear as the ground was cluttered. The wildflowers came popping out of every nook and cranny through out the entire field. Rich soil supported the lush unkempt grass that grew wildly and patchily in the endless field. The willows swayed lightly in the mellow breeze and a few of their loose leave would venture off to take the journey toward the ground where they would then provide their new flowery companion with some nutrients. One lady bug twitched her red wings and then spread them consciously before she took off; in flight she wavered in the winds and tried to keep a straight path. One large gust came and swept the little bug into a frenzy and changed the course of her path. As the winds died down, the lady bug drifted gently and unconcerned toward the flat grass. The grass here was mowed in a perfectly symmetrical circle around one towering tree with roots that came stretching above and over the soil and further than the other tree's roots the lady bug had encountered. The majestic tree had a trunk thicker and stronger than any tree the lady bug had seen. The bay fig tree reached her hands from the warmth of her soil out into the cool air where many people have come to nap, read, talk, kiss, think and observe nature. One girl the tree knew very well was Madeline. Madi would come every day and rest down into the seat the tree had crafted with her roots. She would snuggle up against the smoothed trunk, and she would either begin by singing or talking. Occasionally she would drift into a summer slumber and the tree would relax with Madi and they would both let all their worries dissipate. Madi would run around the bay fig and play games, but the thing the tree loved the most was when Madi would sit down and hold her hands up against the long thick roots and gently smile and say,
"You’re hands have so many more stories to tell then mine do."