My best friend was once a tree, a tall spruce, blue, prickled and standing defiantly, straining against the pull of the earth.

During the summer of drought, when I was six, the sun beat down upon us without mercy, without respite. It burned our crops and dried our wells, but my best friend, the tree, gave me shade each day.

During the summer of wind, when I was seven, the wind tore at its branches. Some broke free, but still it stood, defiantly against the pull of earth. I stood aside his trunk, hiding from the worst gusts. Again my tree protected me.

During the summer of rain, when I was eight, he stood drooping but determined, defying the ground as he waited for the sun to dry his branches. I sat at the base of his trunk suffering drips but not the downpour.

And in this rain he whispered, encouraged me up. I climbed from branch to branch, defying gravity and straining toward the sun. But my foot slipped on a wet branch and I fell, hitting earth with a painful thud.

I no longer listen to the tree. I trusted him... look what he did to me.