Oak trees line the streets of London, branches heavy and green. Years of growing beneath the stone streets reveal roots protruding in nooks and crannies and sidewalks. I ran along the wharf in the early London fog with the oak trees swaying like semaphores cheering me on. My feet hit the payment and rushed passed park benches, red phone booths, and vintage street lamps. Winded and frosted by the morning breeze, I plopped on a green park bench to take in the surrounding environments.

Oak trees with acorns strewn across the trunk in no particular order lined the base of the tree.

I sat under the coolness of the tree and thought about life. My life.

I pray the strength of an oak.

I pray for the longevity of an oak.

I pray for the beauty and purpose of an oak.

Then I rememebered, when we pray for oak trees in life, God answers with acorns.

We pray for oak trees. God answers with acorns.

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