David Adams’ first memory was of a tree. As a boy, he loved to look up at trees, run his hands over their bark, study the veins in their leaves, backlit by the sun.
David loved when the branches blossomed, how buds grew into leaves and how the leaves changed colors. He loved to watch the leaves let go in the fall and drift down to the earth, knowing they would nourish the very tree that had given them birth.
He grew old with the trees. Some of his friends feared death, but David knew there was nothing to fear.
David loved when the branches blossomed, how buds grew into leaves and how the leaves changed colors. He loved to watch the leaves let go in the fall and drift down to the earth, knowing they would nourish the very tree that had given them birth.
He grew old with the trees. Some of his friends feared death, but David knew there was nothing to fear.
