The smell of earth is overwhelming; the heavy scent of manure is foul to my nose, and yet, it draws me. The wind gently caresses the leaves of an apple tree above, and the flavor from a freshly picked strawberry bursts in my mouth. When I close my eyes, my garden envelops me.

I was a seedling; young and not completely rooted. Despite not knowing what the world has in store, I am eager.

I was merely a sapling among the trees; I was still dependent, but I stood alone. I hungered for more, and I thirsted to find what kind of fruit I would eventually bear. I was bent to be broken by the wind, but I am resilient.

I was almost grown. Pests and the frost put the odds against me, but I am adaptable.

I am a tree. My trunk bears various scars in the bark, and my leafy crown is a symbol of defiance against nature’s treacherous endeavors. Not yet matured, I haven't bore any fruit, but I am still growing.