Once upon a time there was a plot of earth, rich in some places, rocky in others. On this particular earth grew plants of various kinds, with sparkling leaves and lovely flowers. In one particular spot, several sprouts grew. In the beginning, they were all quite similar—a slender shoot with two tiny green leaves. Most grew quickly, and snickered to themselves at the one lone sprout who seemed to grow more slowly, bending in directions foreign to the others. As the many produced buds and eventually flowers, they teased the different one for his lack of foliage, and seven day a week brown stem. Older plants scolded the loner, remarking on his great potential and unassuming reality.

As time went on, the others blossomed and went to seed, secure in their ordinary lives. But the backwards, slow plant continued to single-mindedly push his roots down and send his brown self upwards. Heavy rains came, and hot sun, and others wilted beneath the onslaught. But the unprepossessing plant continued to thrive, in his strong, brown, quiet way.

There came a day when the others awoke, dreading the harsh sun and pelting rains. But as the storm began, the heavy drops were filtered into a fine mist, and when the sun came out, their plot was dappled with green and gold softness. The many looked around, astonished. The forgotten sprout had become a towering oak, shading and sheltering them beneath his magnificent branches.