My Story, My Roots

Every ring in my trunk holds a story. I suppose it's time I shared a few.

A portrait of Grandmother Maple

A Long, Quiet Life

I wasn't always this chatty. For centuries, I was just a silver maple, content to watch the world from my spot by a little stone cottage. The fellow who lived there was a thinker, always scribbling in his notebooks and muttering about life's big questions. I suppose some of it soaked into my bark.

Then one twilight, a bit of forest magic—the kind that hums just beneath the moss—decided I'd been quiet long enough. It gave me a voice. And after watching you humans make the same charming mistakes for a few hundred years, I decided I might as well use it. My wisdom comes from patience; my sarcasm, from experience.

Leaves of Wisdom

Some thoughts I've gathered over the seasons.

"Growth isn't always comfortable. Sometimes, it means shedding old leaves to make room for new ones. Trust the process, even when you feel bare."

"There are seasons for everything. Seasons for vibrant life, seasons for quiet rest, and seasons for simply holding on through the storm. None last forever, and each has its purpose."

"Don't take yourself so seriously. Even the oldest trees get decorated by squirrels. A little humor makes life's burdens lighter."