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The Grove

There once was a glad gentleman amongst a generic group of men. Unlike the other generic men around him, Grant was a dreamer– often sitting beneath his favorite shade tree reading a captivating book, or refining his craft as a writer in his private study.

On one particular day – lead by the largest gentleman of his group of young men, the other four members of his group approached Grant while he was immersed in a particularly immersing novel in the late afternoon.

Not noticing his deep voice initially, Grant is startled by the great, grim Gibson when he says, “Hey! Are you listening to me?”

The chubby Grant pushes up his reading spectacles and closes his book before replying, “Yes. I’m listening. This book is just so exciting.”

“That may be so” says the imposing Gibson with his arms across his chest, “But certainly you would rather join us in rousing sport than waste such a beautiful day on written words and flights of fancy.” Three other men – a pair of slender twins named David and John, and a short man named Fred, all nod in passive agreement.

“I am well aware of the fair weather” Grant replies gently. “I still would rather read here – a place I make quite a journey to retreat to each day.”

“You are always lost in your dreams!” Fred says to Grant.

“What is even the point?” says David.

“It may surprise you to know” says Grant, “but there is more to life than what you can sense in the world. Perhaps you should consider your imagination. There are many others who value those who can express themselves.”

“I doubt that highly!” the large, grim Gibson says with a huff. “Strength and skill are all that matters. Fancy words and pleasant images are hardly a substitute for real worth.”

With silent grumbles and rolled eyes, the grim Gibson and the rest of the group of guffawing gentlemen trot off to play their sport, and leave the glad, gentle Grant to the rest of his book.

As the weather becomes even more pleasant, Gibson finds himself enamored with a particularly lovely lady. The other three generic men seek their own courtships as well, but like the grim Gibson, they find themselves in the same predicament.

For you see, all of the ladies they desire want their gentlemen to send them letters of correspondence – not simply with the trivialities of the day, but the matters of the heart.

Even Gibson, with all his confidence, was not able to persuade his lovely lady – not with his shows of strength, or his stylish garments.

“The gentle writer fellow you like to harass has quite a lovely gentleman for a partner” says the lovely lady named Lucille. “Perhaps if you spent more time writing and less time fighting, you’d be able to express more in your letters than the weather, sports and topical opinions.”

With a pouting expression, Gibson sits alone on the bench as the lovely Lucille moves towards a dapper, dashing fellow. He presents her a single rose as they take a stroll along the path and disappear out of sight.