A lovely maple sat at the top of the property, looking out over the forest and the family that lived in the little house nestled into the trees.  The maple braved the blustery Maritime winter and the storms that whipped up the bay and lashed against the seaside mountain where it grew.

It was a strong, heroic sort of tree, but a wee fungus in the grass grew jealous of its lofty heights.  So jealous that it decided to infect the maple, and girdle it about the base until it could no longer feed itself from the earth where it grew.

Slowly, its leaves began to fall, ’til one spring came when it grew no leaves at all, and the family that lived there knew they had to cut the maple down to keep their little one from danger.  Still, the family had looked to the tree with much respect and healthy wonder, so they paid homage to the maple as best they could.

They made this mortal maple a testament to human wonder and the power that nature gives to the imagination.  They made the maple beloved from far and wide by children and youthful hearts with clasped hands and squeals of glee as they rediscovered their long lost stories.   For nothing in nature or imagination is ever truly lost.

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