Raising the Grand Amen
The late morning sun focused on the maple as if she were a star, just stepped onto the stage.
She stood poised and tall against the blue sky, her golden leaves shimmering like sequins as they quivered slightly in the breeze. She looked about her, surveying the scene.
So matchless was its beauty that a rush of happiness washed from her roots all the way to the very tip of her crown.
By the time it reached her topmost leaf, she was saturated with such ecstacy that all she could do was sing praise.
“Amen,” she sang, her song penetrating the woodland. “Amen. Amen. Amen.”
Then the trees around her picked up the song and joined their voices to hers, and the forest rang with joy.
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