Every day, the quiet couple rose with the sun. They would look out the window and watch the colors of the sunrise spill onto their walls. They would sip their coffee and warm their hands on their mugs, and then they would go to work on their small farm. They smiled lovingly at each other, and wondered how they got so lucky to find each other in the big, vast world.

One day, as the woman was about to welcome a baby boy into the world, the small family would be torn apart. The soon-to-be father would pass away from a grave illness, and the family would become two instead of three. In her grief, the woman would rip a piece of her husband’s shirt that still held his scent and wrap it around a seed, just in time for harvest season. She planted this seed in her backyard as a memory of her love.

Every day after that, the quiet mother rose with the sun. She would look out the window and wish that her husband was right there next to her. She sipped her coffee alone while she stood on the cold, bare tiles of her kitchen. She would wake her little boy and smile lovingly at him, wondering how she got so lucky to have such a beautiful child.

Every day as he grew up, the boy rose with the sun. He would look out the window and watch the leaves of a little tree sway dangerously in the wind. He would walk outside to his mother’s garden, pick a tomato plant, and chew thoughtfully as he wiggled his toes in the green grass and stroked the fur of the farm’s animals. He would properly complete all of his chores, and then go back inside to make his mother breakfast. He smiled lovingly at her, and wondered how he got so lucky to have such a strong, independent mother. The two of them would hug in the middle of the kitchen, where time seemed to swirl around them, unable to disturb their peace.

Every day for years, the boy watched the tree outside his window grow and grow. Soon, it was so tall that when the boy woke up and looked out his window, he saw only the brown bark of the trunk. So he would go outside and sit underneath the tree, with his back against the rough bark and his bare toes in the soft grass, and stare up at the sparkling leaves blowing gently in the breeze.

For years, the tree was the only spot on earth that felt truly like his own. Soon the trunk was so strong and wide that the boy could not reach his fingers when he hugged it. The green leaves created a canopy, safe from the hot sun or chilling wind. When the boy sat underneath his tree, it was as if the tree was lovingly smiling down at him, shielding him from all the evil in the world.

Years passed and seasons changed, and the boy was not so little anymore. His mother was long gone, and the farm was all his. He still sat under the tree, but it wasn’t the same. The bark was gray and peeling and the leaves were shriveled and flaky. Patches of weather leaked through the gaps, exposing the boy to the rest of the world. The tree was dying.

One day, the tree collapsed. It hit the Earth with a thud and created a large cloud of dust and dirt. It had worked hard for many years to protect the boy, but its life was over. The trunk lay on its side as if sleeping and the leaves fluttered away in the wind, free. The roots were exposed, covered in dirt and grass.

When the boy came to investigate his tree, he noticed something caught in the woven roots. It was a small piece of cloth, withered and faded as if with time. When he brushed it off to clear the grime, he noticed that his father’s name was embroidered on the sleeve. His father’s shirt had been resting under the cool soil for years, and all along he had thought his father was gone forever. Suddenly he realized that this was his mother’s doing; it was her way of honoring his legacy and keeping the family whole. He ran his fingers over the thread and smiled sadly at the thought of his once complete family. Whenever he would try to picture his father, his saw himself instead, but the details of the face were always blurry. In his grief, he clutched the piece of shirt tightly until his knuckles turned white. He would finally understand his mother’s emotion and wished that both of his parents were still alive to see him all grown up.

The next morning, the boy rose with the sun. He looked out the window and watched the sun glisten and gleam, shedding light upon every corner of the earth. He saw the hole where the tree once was and tried to think about where he would sit and read from then on. He sipped his coffee slowly and warmed his hands on the mug. Then, he gathered his materials and went out to his farm, like he had done so many times before. He looked out at his vast open land and set to work. He moved slowly but steadily, wrapping pieces of his family’s clothing around tiny new seeds, just in time for harvest season. He placed the seeds in a hole and covered it neatly with fresh dirt. He did this until all of his family’s shirts and dresses and blankets were buried beneath the earth, as a memory of his love.

For days and months and years, he watched as his tiny garden grew into a endless orchard. Each blooming tree held its own piece of family, forever entangled within its roots.

And so every day after that, the boy rose with the sun. He looked out the window and smiled lovingly at the earth, wondering how he would ever choose which tree to settle under. Above all, he knew his small, quiet family was eternally intertwined with the earth, the trees, and himself.