In my youth, two cherry trees stood in our family courtyard. Each spring, they would hang heavy with translucent red cherries. Popping one into my mouth left a lingering sweetness on my lips and a sense of pure delight! One spring, the tree blossomed more profusely than ever before,with bees and butterflies dancing among the blossoms. My greedy little self could almost smell the cherries' unique sweetness—even in my dreams, the cherry blossoms smiled at me from the branches. One morning, still lying in bed, I heard the crackling sound of branches shaking in the yard.I scrambled out of bed and dashed into the yard, only to find Mother wielding a bamboo pole, beating the cherry blossoms. One tree seemed already beaten, its blossoms scattered like rain across the ground. Mother was about to move on to the second cherry tree! I rushed over and wrapped my arms tightly around her. No matter how she tried to explain, I clung to her arms, refusing to let go.With no other choice, she stopped and said meaningfully, "Very well. When the cherries ripen, you'll understand why I beat the blossoms!" Before long, the blossoms had fallen, and both trees were laden with green cherries.Especially the one I'd protected from Mother's hand—it bore cherries so densely packed I couldn't count them all. I pointed them out to Mother as if showing off. She smiled and shook her head. When cherry season arrived, the tree Mother had whipped bore abundant fruit, each cherry like a little lantern hanging from the branches.Meanwhile, the fruit on the untouched tree remained stubbornly green. I refused to eat the ripe cherries, waiting patiently for that green to turn into hints of red. But the outcome disappointed me: the ripe cherries were eaten, and the tree I had protected was still laden with green and yellow fruit.Worse still, the cherries began to shrivel, turn black, and fall off. The green on the trunk gradually faded, leaving it dry and lifeless. My mother told me, seeing my disappointment: This cherry tree had bloomed too profusely in spring and, without pruning, bore too many cherries.Overwhelmed by the demand for water and nutrients it couldn't supply, it had literally worked itself to death! Through the sacrifice of one cherry tree, my mother taught me a lesson: only through the discipline of pruning can youthful immaturity gradually mature into wisdom and maturity. In life, one must not be too greedy; learning to choose and let go is essential.When greed fills the heart, taking without giving leads to the fate of that unpruned cherry tree—overburdened and ultimately left empty-handed. Yet appropriate sacrifice, though seemingly a loss, will yield richer rewards in the near future!
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