THE THREE TREES BY Elena Pasquali:
Long ago, on a hillside, stood three trees. In the Spring, their roots drank in the cool raindrops that trickled through the soil. In the Summer, they unfolded their leaves to the sun. In the Autumn, strong winds tousled their branches.

In Winter, they rested under the sparkling snow. Under the cold night sky that glittered with stars, they dreamed their dreams. "Mine," said the first tree, "is of riches. I want to be made into a beautiful chest that will hold the finest treasure."

"Mine," said the second, "is of power. I want to be made into a proud ship in which a mighty king will travel around his domain."

The third tree sighed in the breeze. "I want to stay," it said quietly, "here on the hillside, pointing to Heaven."

Many years went by, and the trees grew tall and strong. One day, three woodcutters climbed the hill, each with an axe in his hand.

"I am ready for riches," said the first tree as it fell.
"I bow to the king," said the second.
But the third tree shed its fragile leaves like tears. "Now my dream is over," it wept as it fell to the ground.

A carpenter took the wood from the first tree, sawed it into planks, and then joined them. It was a box he made - and he made it well - but it was not a chest. It was a sturdy trough. An innkeeper came and carted it away. Every evening, he filled it with hay for the weary creatures that his guests brought to his stable. "Such a humble life," sighed the tree. "Such a poor and dismal place."

One night, the innkeeper led the animals aside, and a man and a woman took shelter in the stable. Gentle hands put fresh, clean straw in the trough. Then a newborn baby was laid upon it. Suddenly the first tree knew that it was holding the greatest treasure the world had ever known.

A shipwright took the wood from the second tree. He sawed it and shaped it and smoothed it and sealed it. Fisherman came and trundled it away. Each evening, they slid it into the violent blue waters of a lake, sailed off into the night, and cast their nets - later to haul them aboard full of slithering fish. "Such a weary life," said the tree, "and among such ordinary people."

One night storm winds blew and great waves crashed. Then a man stood up in the boat and spoke to the storm: "Peace. Be Still." At once there was calm. And the second tree knew that it was carrying the mightiest King the world had ever known.

The wood from the third tree was roughly hewn and left in a woodyard, almost forgotten. Then one day came a clamour of voices. "Any wood will do, but fetch it quickly." Rough hands grasped the wood and hastily made a cross.

Cruel hands forced a man onto it and nailed him there by his hands and feet. Soldiers hoisted the cross upright. There, on a low, barren hilltop, the man died. The tree that became a cross was left empty. As the sun sank low, it felt despair deeper than it had ever known. Though the sun rose and set again, every hour felt like darkness.

Then came a bright dawn. By a miracle, the man who had died was seen alive again. The tree that had borne his death was now a symbol of his life.

And the third tree knew that it would stand for ever, pointing to Heaven.