It is mysterious how these acorns can house so much potential. They are silent. There is no movement. I can find no hatch for the transference of nutrients or a root system that will gird a trunk sixty feet high. Yet given the optimum combination of light, loam and moisture one of these nuggets, no bigger than a man's thumbnail, will erupt into a leafy giant that could live to shade my own great great great great grandchildren. 

 

Marriage begins as a small promise. The question, compressed into fourteen letters packaged in four words, can fit inside the hollow of a young man's parched mouth.

 

Who but the Craftsman of the oak can peer into tomorrow's family tree? The faces of babies whose acorn shaped noses are a miniature of their mothers' sprang from a still smaller seed. They are another mystery poised to flourish. 

 

 

 

Photo by Jenny Stein

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