• Once upon a time, in a land farther away than far itself, there stood a lone oak tree. Littered beneath the behemoth of a tree, with leaves as green as green could be, were small acorns of many shapes and sizes. Some were a silky chocolate brown, fat with the swelling meat inside them. Others were still young and green, not even their caps seemed to show any bit of aging. Without even animals of any kind to pick them up and carry them away, the acorns stayed there, day after day after day.

    The Mother Tree soon became distraught as she watched her children wither and die at her feet. They could not grow without space or sunlight. Oh how she knew this, but her limbs were useless and she had no way of moving the acorns to give each one its share. She wanted them to grow, as any mother would, but could only watch in silence as they became nothing underneath her shadow.

    On an early morning, when the grassy plains were thick with fog and silence, a stranger meandered into the large clearing. With fingers as quick as lightning, the stranger plucked away each and every acorn from the base of the mother tree and then stole away into the rising sun. When she awoke to find only the gossiping grass below, the Tree was enraged. How dare someone come in and steal her children, even the young ones with so much life and health ahead of them.

    Every season the same thing would happen. In the peacefulness of the early morning some heartless thief would take her children away from her and disappear, without leaving so much as a single one behind. The sorrow and grief consumed the Mother Tree, and she became deathly ill. No longer did her leaves shine emerald in the glistening summer sun. No longer did her branches sway and croon in the wind. Instead, her leaves turned a sickly green sheen and the broad branches about her cracked and toppled to the ground. Slowly, the acorns grew less and less. But even still, the thief did not relent. With her last breath, the Mother tree placed her heart and soul into her final child. The next morning the Mother tree watched from her child's eyes as it was carried away without so much as a look back.

    Strangely enough, though, the thief traveled only a few yards away from the husk of a tree he he had procured the acorn from. As the glaring sun faded, the Mother Tree couldn't believe her eyes. Spanning as far as the eye could see, where the barren plains once lay, loomed prosperous acres of Oak trees. Every single one of them had been her children at one time or another, and now themselves grew as tall as she once had. The Mother tree had been so consumed by the angering situation below her, she failed to even glance out onto the horizon where the Oak forest had begun to grow into the sky. As she was lowered by the soft, gentle hands into the dirt, the Mother tree realized her anger had been misdirected and useless. As her consciousness faded, all she could do was wish for good fortune to each of her children. Before the orange sunlight was completely covered by dirt, she could hear the call of her children. Each one spoke of how they loved her and bid her to live again someday. To live as strong and proud as she once was once upon a time.