I asked an apple tree:"What is my purpose?"
My voice shaking with anger, and frustration, and helplessness, and overwhelming stress.
I have pushed myself to strive, to excel at everything, until
something sucked the last remnants of energy out of me, leaving me
weary, and depleted, and lost.

Rustling leaves, shining to an almost golden hue, responded in breezes:
When you spent years of striving,
sucking every raindrop bestowed from above,
enjoying every ray of sunshine piercing through the clouds.
You efforted so much, received so much from your surroundings, and
now it's time to give back.

You owe the hiker a succulent apple in a sultry summer day.
You owe the passerby a drop of shade under aggressively fiery sun.
You owe a strong branch to the robins, back from the south.
You owe a homey habitat to the playful squirrel, nibbling on your abundant fruits.

Everybody loves an apple tree, because it gives.
Nobody loves brambles and thorns, because not only they
spread an aura of unhappiness, but also they hurt,
even though they both receive air and water and sun and everything from nature.