The Cloud Painter
Once upon a time there was a little boy brimming over with imagination who loved to go out into the meadows straight after a big storm to watch the clouds moving and the tree tops swinging. He would lie down under his favourite gnarled tree, which he called the Chieftain Tree because he knew it had once been a beacon tree for the Indians to guide them to use portage routes in the same way as a lighthouse would guide big ships into the harbour. This big Chieftain Tree was the boy's secret refuge as well as a close friend under which he could silently watch the different hues and shapes of the clouds that were being driven by the wind across the sky like little white and black sheep being chased by a watchful but wild and strong sheepdog. Whenever possible, the young lad talked to his tree and asked him questions, and only he could understand what his old friend told him because he had the ability to listen carefully and observe attentively, and his eyes and little heart were wide open to Nature to let the whispers of the boughs and leaves and the touch of the breezes that were as precious to him as his dearest friends and family. (...)
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