The massive tree grew amid an ancient ruin. Its twisting roots plunged through the crumbling stone to find good soil and fresh water.
The people who lived nearby considered the tree a metaphor for self-reliance and survival against all odds. Perhaps they were the descendants of the ruin’s inhabitants, or they might have come from their conquerors. The history was long since lost.
But the tree, if they had been able to ask it, would have fondly remembered a time when it grew straight and narrow in a clay pot, cultivated by a skilled and loving hand, now centuries gone.

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