And so, the story begins.
Unlike any other tale, where there is a definite start and end. For what is there to a story, if there was an end to begin with? What matters, is the people who gave reason to its existence - significance to its birth.
This story begins with a girl called Julianna - her hair the smell of a warm summer's day, eyes radiant as the golden sun and a laugh that sings a thousand songs in your heart. Of what I can remember, Julianna really loved a good pie, one that her mother, Christine, would make every Tuesday. Oh, how she would dance and twirl to the sounds of pots clanging in the kitchen. Her mother would say, "Oh Julianna, Julianna, stop going bananas."
One fine evening, Julianna was sitting on the porch, gazing at the trees as they danced to the tune of the winds. She wondered, how could there be so much life in what was a little willow.
The tree couldn't sing, but yet its magnificent strong trunk sang of beauty unrivalled.
The tree couldn't talk, but yet its withering leaves whispered words, unspoken of a time that was and now longer wasn't.
The tree couldn't cry, but yet its branches reached out into the high heavens, searching for comfort from its Giver of life.
There were so many trees in the neighbourhood, but none like this. Oh no, this tree was different. It spoke life into her little being.
