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	T H E     S H O O T
		I once planted a shoot somewhere in my heart of hearts. It was then so much frail ! And so much small ! I hoped I wouldn't have soon to mourn for it. But I heard its voice telling me that If I fussed over it, one day I would be able to harvest its fruits. Of course I agreed. It was then the middle of the autumn, and the wind had flung down the only leaf he had. It looked like as a flimsy small stick when the winter overcame my world. How harum-scarum I had been ! The long cold winter urged me to entrench myself inside my warm house. I let the shoot sink into oblivion. I let it tremble and freeze while snow, cold and wind were taking possession of my garden. At last the flowering plants heralded the approach of spring. I enjoyed the new flowers lightening my garden. But when I set eyes on a stunted dewy stick planted in the ground, without any leaf while all around grass was lush, I remembered the voice I heard, and I remembered that I agreed ... And I thought I had played it false ... I read as many books as I could, I asked as many persons as I could, I moved heaven and earth to know what could still be done to save the shoot. I did any little thing I was told, whenever possible. I did my best to atone for my oversight. And at last the first leaf proved me that winter hadn't sounded the death knell for my shoot. The summer drought compelled me to visit it every day, owing to watering, none of its leaves withered up, but the autumn wind blew all of them off. Nonetheless, I still inspect it as much as needed, and even cold and snow couldn't prevent me to take care of it. Years have passed, and death lost the game ..  The shoot had turned into a young tree, with a lot of boughs and so many leaves that I couldn't ever count them ! The icing on the cake is that last spring offered me the first flowers and that now the first fruit is on the verge to be gathered ... Time had just done its work - and it precisely worked marvel. 11/08/11 Isabelle Coquinot a quirk of fate un caprice du sort