The Red Plum Tree

Some 30 years ago, give or take a few days, on a spring-time walk, as I went my way... a neighbor, cross the street, beckoned to me, saying "How would you like a little plum tree?" I looked at the offering, it seemed like a stick, leaves yellowed and wilting, appearing quite sick... but her yard was a garden, both front and back, her thumb was green, and I thought mine did lack. Not wanting this nice lady's spirits to sag, I accepted her gift, roots wrapped in damp bag. Then I ended my walk, to take home this sad sprig, planted it hoping 'twould be more than dead twig. As they will, years and seasons scurried by fast. My little tree brought rewards in summer's repast, of sweet-tart wild beach plums... red as can be. This sick sapling grew into a wonderful tree. Early spring brought a frothy veil, blossoming white, glowing it seemed, in April's moonlight. Birds found it's twisted branches always the best, to raise families in saftey within woven nests. Sun-kissed fruit emerged, as swelling green marbles, ripening to shaded burgandies, in emerald leaves nestled. Sing-songing, came wasps drone, the bumbling of bees, sipping juices from split gems on this ruby decked tree. Autumn slipped 'round then a crown of golden tinged hues, on this queenly matron, where my cat loved to snooze. She was a princess there, this small calico kitten... her palace those branches, with it she was smitten. Many winters passed over my most bounteous treasure. Bright jelly jars lined pantry-shelves just to measure, all the good it gave back for so little loving care, munching scarlet on buttered toast, I admired it there. Through kitchen's window, seated at wooden table, snow covered her branches, wild wind tickled gables. A sparkling icicle curtain hung between she and me, I can't help listing wonders I've seen in this tree. Time moved on again, as it always will in it's stream. A storm wakened me one one night, from the sweetest of dreams. There were lightening bolts crackling, rolling thunder's din, golf-ball-sized hail, high gusting winds. In anguish, skin chill-prickled, nightgown flapping away, I watched that brave old tree with pain shudder and sway. On my face the rain mingled with a silvering of tears... 'neath the lashing, she toppled, bringing truth to my fears; that I'd lose her one day, (she was more than a tree, my son, now grown up, used to climb there, you see.) Blessed with long life, loving pictures surround, her corpse as it trembles, there on rain-soaked ground. Still smoking and blackened where sky-fire had run... my beauty would no longer raise her face to the sun. And she'd outlived the neighbor, with hair so white, who'd given me this... my all-seasons delight. The earth has since orbited twice more 'round the sun, and what i see through the window now, when day's work is done, are the bones of my treasure, lifting trellised moon-flowers. She still lights up my twilight, her spirit holds special powers. Some may wonder at this, many will almost never see, how a human could ever fall in love with a tree... and i know this has been a very long story, but her presence in my life deserves all this glory.this is a true and personal story...of this tree's life... tangled in the lines are the strands of love for my mother who cared for all things living. Written February 26th, 2002 © on Feb 26 2002 10:00 AM PST   18 • 0 • 10