Every so often I climb the old Maple tree that stands in the middle of a grass field. Limb by limb I climb to the top. I find myself a sturdy branch to sit on so that I can look out into the vast grassy plain. Trees boardered the west and the south and the east. The north is a mountain range with snow kissed peaks. Below the tree were roots and a bare patch of dirt were the grass had died. I finally can get away from the mess of the world from the mess of my life when I'm in that tree. I wish that I could just forever stay in tree and live with the birds. Grow my own wings and fly away and spread seeds of love and compassion. With all the pain in the world I cry out every night. Wars were being fought on the ground of this very earth. People every day would die and there was nothing I could do. I look at the bare spot of dirt on the ground again. Maybe there was something I could do. By planting a seed, by planting hope, by planting love, plant a seed in every one.