Status

.

.

.

my father once told me a story

about

an

old

redwood tree

how it stood tall and proud

.

.

.

.

.

its sprawling limbs clothed in emerald green

.

with a smile,

my father described its as a mere sapling,

sheltered by its elders

and

basking in the safety of the warm, dappled light

.

.

.

but as the tree grew taller,

it found itself at the mercy

of the cruel wind

and

the vicious rain

.

.

.

.

.

together,

they tore relentlessly at its pretty boughs

until it felt as though its heart would split in two

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

after a long,

thoughtful pause,

my father turned to me and said:

.

my daughter, one day the same thing will happen to you, and when that time comes, remember the redwood tree

.

do not worry about the cruel wind or the vicious rain — but do as that tree did and just K E E P   G R O W I N G “

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