wordpaintervs

I sure hope she is. It would make her so happy to see me doing that for the little ones. She was the kindest person I've known in my entire life.

I will pm you my address. Thanks for whatever you can do to help. I appreciate it so much. Hugs to you and yours.

Vickey Stamps

Here is another writing for the group that I did...I think last week or so. I hope no one minds my putting this on here once in a while.

THE TREE THAT WEPT
© Vickey Stamps
The tree stood in a park sitting on the edge of a bank, It’s roots protecting the bank from pulling away of its soils, called an erosion process. Water was its constant companion having shared the many years of the trees growing. It wasn’t yet what one would call old, but its youth had indeed fled. Its had pointed leaves and wished they were larger and perhaps a different color like others in the times of Autumn. Sometimes the tree wished it could raise its branches to the sky as the trees around it could do. It wanted to praise the Creator as well. Yet here it stood, head bowed and its leaves all but touching the water. Sometimes when a strong wind would come, the tree would think “Today is the day I will at last raise my branches and limbs up.” It would summon up the deepest breath it could manage, willing itself to rise up in part, with a waving of its ornamental leaves to the heavens. Instead the winds would whip it about in a circular manner, like a full skirt blown by gusty weather. The tree wept and thought itself of little importance. It wept for what surely lay ahead for it with its bowed head and slumped demeaner. It was a Willow tree. The tree and the water that rippled about it nourishing its roots, had often burned the midnight oils with the it , not just by being together, but by sharing the moments that had passed over the years. When all was quiet and the night had fallen, when the waters lay about the tree in as quiet a moment as they could mange, they would speak together.
Now the bluish-green and slightly yellow tingled leaves were silent. The water other then its rippling surface kept its silence as well. In the lateness of afternoon a man had come to visit the tree. It seemed he was an artist, for he sat up an easel upon the lush grasse in the park, and only a few yards from the tree. A smile lit the mans face. The tree and waters wondered what was in the mans heart that he would smile so at the tree. A breeze came up and blew the leaves playfully in the direction of the painter. “AHHH….” He sighed, at the pleasureable message upon his skin. He turned to lay out colors upon his palette. As he began to sketch and paint he talked to the tree in loving tones, telling it a story of all he knew of it. He had traveled from another place to come and see this wide tree beside the bank, with its park setting and with its water. He knew he must capture its image upon a canvas.
“You are beautiful, oh Willow Tree. You are such a marvelous creation. Surely the Heavens smiled when the Lord created such as you!”
“Me?” thought the tree. “Me, with my watery bark, and all these mixed colors in my truck, uponmy branches and limbs…in my leaves?,. Me with my slumped back and hanging down leaves. That cannot be. Surely this man makes a joke about me!” The tree wished it could communicate with him like it could with the other things of nature around it.
“I have been relieved of my times of pain because of your bark, tree. A wise man was given knowledge of it and made a medicine that has served mankind for many years. From your wood have come beautiful products , cradle boards, musical instruments, toys,, ropes, paper and many other things to make our life easier. Lovers will sit beneath your branches for privacy, others for shade from the days heat. Children dance around you in happiness to see your beauty. Small animals seek shelter from you. You will bare many children in seeds that grow upon you. The seeds will be carried in the wind. Your children will grace the land in many places. Do you weep, dear Tree?. Weep for what the other trees do not have compared to your gifts. Weep for the sadness you see and hear sometimes within this park, if you feel you must weep. Do not weep for your self, beautiful tree. You are a treasure.
Now the artist had finished his painting, turning it around that the tree might look upon it. Instead before, having seen only part of its reflection in the water, saw itself now as a whole thing. Wide spread it stood upon the bank, full of color, a shelter, a helper of mankind and a creation of beauty. The tree wanted to smile for the man, but did not know how. In its heart, the tree had a new respect for itself, not to mention for the Creator of all living things. It knew without doubt….
LIFE WAS GOOD.