It is a bright sunny day in the quaint idyllic town of Eidelman. The air is crisp in a hidden valley beyond the horizon, and the sky is a perfect shade of blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds. Birds sing into the wind cheerfully from the spindly branches of weeping willow trees that line an otherwise quiet avenue. The grass is lush, neatly manicured and bordered by bountifully colorful flowers. It is the kind of day that makes you want to feel alive, like anything at all is possible.

   In the center of the town stands a large, ancient oak tree. It has been there for as long as anyone can remember, and has become something of a local landmark. The tree's gnarled branches stretch out in all directions, forming a welcoming canopy that provides shade from the, in times past, relentless sun. Children play happily beneath its flat-faced leaves, their laughter filling the air with a joyous melody.

   Old Mister Haschem, a kindly retired gentleman, ambles down the cobblestone sidewalk with his trusty walking stick. He greets everyone he passes with a warm smile and a friendly wave. As he...