Once upon a time, there was a young tree dancing in the gales of the strongest storm she had ever experienced in her entire life. The storm buffeted the mountain and swept the valley, but despite the fury of the storm the young tree danced gleefully because today was her birthday.

Nearly seven years had passed since she first opened her nut and began to reach towards the clouds which crested the grey snowy peaks overhead. She remembered every moment, every smell, every sound, and every touch since her first birthday. She counted the days of the seasons diligently and wrote them clearly on her ever-growing bark. This birthday was very special to the little tree because she had a glorious secret to share. The little tree was pregnant.

She was not sure who the father was because the pollen was brought on the winds from so very far away, but it didn’t matter. She was going to have children.

“Nuts!” She marveled. “Where will they grow? Who will care for them? What wonders will they bring to the world?”

Suddenly, a huge boulder, torn from the mountain by the force of the storm and carried down the mountainside by the tremendous torrents of rain, crashed into the little tree and tore her from the earth, rending her trunk and scattering her branches in the tumultuous wind.

The little tree wept as she bled on the mountainside. Her hopes dashed and her nuts torn asunder. She openly longed for death. However, death did not come.

The morning brought new agony as the mountainside streams, engorged by the storm swept mud and debris over and past the little tree, washing away her roots and sending her spiraling into the valley below. The little tree thought this was her end. It was not.

Many days passed as the little tree lay sprawled on the riverbank. Her outer branches torn away in the chaos and much of her bark shredded to tatters. She wished for the end but it was not to be.

Over the next few days, the little tree lost all her previous memories as much of her flesh was consumed by pests and most of her trunk baked in the hot sun. She went on living long past when the decay and rot had devastated her once limber trunk.

Then, one day, a memory came back to her.

The little tree remembered the shape of her blossoms.