A Certain Maple Tree

It’s one of those days. I haven’t written in awhile, but today I must say a few words. Get them off my chest, so to speak. There is a story I’d like to tell, but I am finding it difficult to find the right words for it. It began so many years ago, when a little blond girl with a bowl cut was about three or four. It’s the kind of story that can break someone’s heart simply because of the love that was created and snapped apart. It’s a story that came to an end a couple of weeks ago, but now the older brunette girl with the long curly hair must learn to remember and let go. The child could be innocent and hope that the days under the sun would somehow last forever, but the older girl must realize that innocents and hope are marvelous things to have, but sometimes we have to realize that our childhood comes to an end, but that doesn’t mean one cannot cherish it.
For me a certain maple tree reminds me of the time that we have here and what we shall do with that time to make our stay on this green Earth worthwhile. This tall Maple was just as much a friend as it was a growing part of the earth beneath our feet. To the little blond girl it was the overseer of her childhood. It supported her little skinny body as a child and embraced her stiff punches and hot tears as a teen. It gave her a place of rest in her very boisterous life. It would always be there, she had thought. It was that one familiar thing she noticed when she drove up Waltonville Drive that meant home, for better or worse. It was that key icon that would protect the house from the road and show off its beauty when the seasons past between each other. Its grand colors could bring tears to anyone’s eyes in the fall, the way the snow seemed to lay still and comforted on its branches during winter, the small buds that bloomed pink and white in the spring gave it life, and the vibrant green leaves made sure you knew it was summer even if the sweltering heat couldn’t give that away. It stood strong when the wind came, it cuddled the rain, and it welcomed sun as it shaded her from below. It was a perfect tree to the common passerby, but to the child it was magical. It wasn’t just a tree it was a friend that could never be replaced.
Today that tree is in pieces. The girl came home and her tree wasn’t there standing tall anymore. Its beautiful leaves were nonexistent and piles of saw dust took up its place at its base. She couldn’t wrap her head around all the hurt that she was feeling over this tree and in some respects it made her feel stupid. It was just wood, but it was hers. She wrapped her body around the now horizontal trunk shadowing it for once in her own shadow, a shadow filled with love.
She remembered the time her sister and her had accidently tore off a branch making a small crater in its side, they had run to their father’s garage and got some wood glue and duck tape to seal it off. Or the time she had climbed up into the tree telling herself she wouldn’t leave until the BFG was finished. She remembered going out there in the rage of a fight with her parents and cried for hours in protection of its strong limbs. She had scared the daylights out of her parents by jumping from the top limbs as they came up to the garden that surrounded the tree. This tree was a part of her history and now, seeing it lay sideways on the ground, it felt so empty, she felt so empty. Deciding to remember all the good and bad times with the Maple was the only way she could get through this sad event. The Tree had been loved. The little girl, the teenage, the young woman, the middle aged woman, and the old lady would never forget what it had given them.
--Anne