She ran down the path, her bare feet complaining as the loose gravel embedded themselves in her soles; as the brittle twigs scratched and pierced her skinny, little legs. The smell of rain was in the air and the sun was preparing to retire for the night, but that did not deter her. She had to make it before it was too late. Reaching the top of the hill she saw it before her, but she did not slow down soon enough and went crashing into its thick trunk. Resting her face on its rough layers, she stretched her arms around its waist, trying so desperately to get right ‘round, but her five-year-old hands were just not long enough. Wrapping her arms and legs around, as far as possible, gripping the trunk with her small hands, she slowly edged her way up until she was able grab hold of a branch, swinging herself to safety.
High up, away from the dirt track that had bloodied her feet exposed, she could look out over the world. Breathing in its beauty, she let out a song; her gentle voice soothing her soles, drying out the tears. As the sun set, the mild breeze wove the twigs into a lace canopy. Only then, it began to rain. The drops fell like tears, striking the soil with a peculiar gentleness, pitter-pattering a soft whisper of hope.