FROM SEED TO GLORY | PART TWO
Ten years passed in the heart of the bustling city. Glass-fronted buildings glimmered beneath the steady afternoon sun, their reflections dancing like waves of fire.
Streets hummed with the constant movement of cars, horns calling and fading, footsteps overlapping in a living rhythm.
From nearby parks came the echo of laughter and play, voices rising and falling like a choir woven into the noise of the city.
Yet, tucked away in a quiet corner of Zionel’s family compound, beyond the tiled veranda and the low concrete fence, something extraordinary had risen.
A majestic tree stood there—tall, perfectly shaped, and commanding.
Its thick, lush branches spread outward in a full, conical silhouette, balanced and deliberate, as though measured by unseen hands.
Each leaf caught the light differently, shimmering softly, as if dusted with starlight. The air around it felt calmer, heavier, charged with a quiet presence that did not announce itself yet refused to be ignored.
Zionel was now twenty. Every morning, before the city fully woke, he stepped barefoot onto the cool tiles of the compound.
He poured water slowly at the roots, watched the soil drink deeply, examined the leaves one by one, and stood back in silent wonder.
Often, his thoughts drifted to the tiny seed and the gentle voice that had placed it in his palm years ago. What it had become still humbled him.
James and Precious noticed the tree more with each passing day. From the living room window, where light curtains swayed gently under the ceiling fan’s hum, their eyes were drawn to it again and again.
Its size, its beauty, its quiet authority unsettled them.
The afternoon breeze brushed the curtains aside, and Precious leaned closer to the window. Her breath hitched slightly, her voice gathering curiosity before breaking the silence.
Precious (curious):
“James... have you seen this tree? It’s incredible.”
“James... have you seen this tree? It’s incredible.”
The room seemed to still as James lifted his gaze from the chair. The faint creak of wood marked his movement as he stood and followed her line of sight toward the window.
His tone came slowly, layered with disbelief as he studied the trunk rooted firmly in the compound soil.
James (puzzled):
“Sure. It’s unlike any tree I’ve ever seen. It grew so tall, so fast.”
“Sure. It’s unlike any tree I’ve ever seen. It grew so tall, so fast.”
Outside, the leaves rustled as if listening. Precious’s fingers pressed lightly against the window frame, her voice shifting, searching.
Precious (thoughtful):
“Do you know who planted it?”
“Do you know who planted it?”
James exhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on the trunk, broad and firm against the earth. His tone came low and restrained, carrying hesitation and quiet resolve.
James (uncertain):
“No, Precious.”
“No, Precious.”
At that moment, Zionel walked past the window outside, moving through the compound beneath the tree’s shadow. He kept his pace steady, pretending not to hear.
His face remained calm, though the corner of his lips curved into a subtle smile. His words slipped out barely above a whisper, meant only for himself.
Zionel (softly):
“It’s grown well… just like she said.”
“It’s grown well… just like she said.”
The parents turned toward each other. The hum of the fan felt louder. Their exchanged glances carried worry, confusion, and something close to fear, as though a truth was circling them, waiting to land.
Precious stepped away from the window and moved quickly toward the door. She pushed it open and stepped out onto the veranda, the open air meeting her face.
Her brow tightened as she leaned forward slightly, calling out into the compound, her voice sharper now, pressing for answers.
Precious (frowning):
“Zionel, you haven’t been near the window lately… wait—did you plant this?”
“Zionel, you haven’t been near the window lately… wait—did you plant this?”
Zionel stopped beneath the tree. The sounds of the city drifted in from beyond the compound gate. Slowly, he turned to face her, his tone steady, unburdened.
Zionel (calmly):
“Yes, mum. I planted it many years ago.”
“Yes, mum. I planted it many years ago.”
A pause followed, thick and heavy. Zionel lifted his head slightly, his voice reflective, firm with quiet resolve.
Zionel (earnestly):
“I wanted to see what it could become.”
“I wanted to see what it could become.”
James stepped out of the room and onto the veranda, then moved closer into the compound. He approached the tree, standing within reach of its branches.
His fingers extended, brushing the leaves. They felt cool, alive, stronger than he expected. His tone rose, edged with astonishment.
James (astonished):
“Your hands? You did this all alone?”
“Your hands? You did this all alone?”
The leaves trembled lightly, stirred by the breeze and the weight of the moment. Zionel lowered his gaze, humility softening his smile.
His voice came softly, steady and sincere, carrying the quiet faith of a child who had waited patiently.
Zionel (gently):
“Yes, dad. I watered it every day, cared for it quietly. I never told anyone.”
“Yes, dad. I watered it every day, cared for it quietly. I never told anyone.”
James straightened, his eyes narrowing with curiosity that now burned brighter than doubt. A brief silence settled between them as his tone pressed forward, firm and searching, demanding the truth.
James (pressing):
“Tell us, how did you get the seed?”
“Tell us, how did you get the seed?”
Zionel spoke then, slowly and carefully, telling them everything—about the seed, about the old beggar woman, about her words and the blessing she spoke.
As his story unfolded, the compound seemed to listen. The city’s noise dulled, and even the leaves grew still.
At first, his parents struggled to believe it. Their thoughts tangled with disbelief. How could an old beggar woman give their son such a seed?
How could something so small grow into the most beautiful and incredible tree they had ever seen?
Their minds searched for reason, but their eyes kept returning to the living proof before them.
Precious stepped forward, emotion swelling in her chest. Her hand rested on Zionel’s shoulder, grounding herself as much as him.
Her voice broke through softly, trembling with awe and restrained emotion as the words spilled out.
Precious (overcome):
“Oh, Zionel… it’s beautiful! And… it’s thriving!”
“Oh, Zionel… it’s beautiful! And… it’s thriving!”
Her voice wavered, awe filling the space where doubt once lived. The question rose from her slowly, hushed and wondering, as if she feared breaking the moment.
Precious (amazed):
“How could such a small seed become this?”
“How could such a small seed become this?”
Zionel laughed softly, the sound light and warm. He brushed a stray leaf from his shirt, his tone carrying calm wisdom beyond his years.
Zionel (assured):
“Patience, mum.”
“Patience, mum.”
The breeze picked up, circling the tree, stirring the air gently as he continued.
Zionel (confident):
“Faith and care make the difference.”
“Faith and care make the difference.”
He looked past them, toward the open compound gate, where distant figures slowed to stare.
His words rose firmly, steady and unwavering, carrying quiet authority and the calm of one who has fulfilled his part.
Zionel (resolved):
“I only did what I could, and now it’s time for others to see it too.”
“I only did what I could, and now it’s time for others to see it too.”
As the sun dipped behind the tall city buildings, its golden light stretched long across the compound.
The tree’s silhouette spilled across the yard, shadows deep and deliberate, as though marking sacred ground.
Passersby slowed their steps, some stopping entirely. Whispers followed—soft, reverent, filled with wonder—as eyes traced the unusual branches and radiant leaves.
Zionel stood quietly beneath it. The city buzzed on, unaware, but in that corner of the compound, the air felt cleaner, purer.
He remembered the old woman’s blessing, her voice steady and sure.
For ten years he had nurtured her gift in silence. Now it stood tall, a testimony of patience, care, and quiet faith.
When the light finally faded and evening settled, a calm remained. The leaves rested. The compound breathed.
Whatever had grown there was no longer just a tree—it was a promise fulfilled, and a glory still unfolding.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
Aatsujnk
Audio Premiere
Word: 0 / 0 (0%)
READY...
0
0
0
Comments
Post a Comment