It is 2:52 a.m. Thursday, Nov. 30, 2017. I cannot sleep because words are trying to form into a story. I have always loved writing and hope one day to become a great one.

I remember when I wrote my first story, I was in the eighth grade and my English teacher asked the class to write a story of our choosing. I chose to write about trees because as a child I was in awe of them.

This is the story I wrote for my class project: The trees were having a contest to find the grandest ones in the groups. All of the trees were excited about the contest. The trees were broken into four groups: group one ranged from ages 5-12, group two ranged from 13-21, group three range was 22-49 and group four was 50 on up. The trees were busy trying to get ready for the contest since everyone wanted to look their best.

The day of the contest the trees were dressed in all their glory: they showed up wearing beautiful colors of red, green, orange, purple, yellow and brown as they paraded around the stage. It was such a sight that it took your breath away.

As each one came on stage they posed for the audience. Finally the judges could not judge because all of them were so beautiful. The wise old grandfather was sitting around thinking, “why should we say that one is more beautiful than the others. There are many colors in the rainbow and it takes them all to make it beautiful.” The trees agreed that it took all of them to make the forest beautiful. They made the grandfather the grandest and wisest in the forest. The trees were satisfied and never had another contest.

When I turned in my story the teacher gave me an F. She said I told you to write a story, what you wrote is not good because trees cannot talk or walk. She told me to do my story over. I can still remember the hurt I felt when she said trees couldn’t walk or talk. I was writing from my imagination. I still feel as if she was wrong, because she asked for a story and I gave her one. Surely, she did not believe trees could come alive, but I did. Today if my teacher was around she would know that in animation anything can talk and move.

Be Bless in Jesus’ Name.

Mary Simmons is a columnist for The Kenbridge-Victoria Dispatch. She can be reached at Aboxoflove@gmail.com.

Mary

Simmons

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