The Maple Tree

The mist of a winter’s dawn hung over the snowy frontier settlement. A shadow moved in the woods, and the stillness was broken by the soft swishing steps of a Native American brave. With calculated movements and deadly precision, he swung his powerful tomahawk and then stepped quickly aside.

The one injured had been deeply revered by Native Americans and settlers alike. Respected for his impressive age and mighty appearance, he had stood the tests of time and storm. He was the central figure of the struggling little outpost. Children played around his feet and families included him in their picnics and outings.

There had been unstable times between the settlers and the Native Americans. Yet it was he who had supervised their peace councils, gently nodding his branches as agreements were made.

Over time, inevitable changes came. Planting, hunting, and building increasingly occupied the settlement, and he passed