A boy sprinkles ash on a sapling to see it ‘grow faster’ and learns speed has an appetite.
**Hook:** Ash was impatient for the sapling to become a tree. He dusted the soil with fireplace ash, certain that yesterday’s wood would feed tomorrow’s shade.
**Rise:** The sapling coughed leaves. The next day, Ash brought more. The leaves tanned like careless tourists. A gardener noticed the grey halo and the boy’s bitten lip. “Trees eat slowly,” she said. “Like good stories.” She scraped the ash away, watered with patience, and taught Ash to measure growth by thumb-widths, not daydreams. They marked the trunk with pencil lines, tiny rungs for a ladder time alone could build.
Rain taught the rest. Roots found the rumor of a spring and held on. Birds auditioned for future branches by arguing on the fence. Ash visited daily with a tape measure and a calmer heart.
**Finish:** When shade finally arrived, it was roomy enough to cover regret. Ash hung a swing and pushed his sister higher than his old hurry. **Moral:** Growth is not slow; it’s exact. Give it time, not tricks.
