five minute friday: tree.
It’s Friday, and I nearly missed it. This seems to be happening more and more. Fridays are good, and so is writing, even when I don’t feel like it. This is why I write with this group, why I write for 5 minutes, pure and unedited, on a topic that someone else has picked.
This week’s topic is: tree.
There’s a cherry blossom tree, rather a row of three of four of them, planted outside my home. Every time I’m at the kitchen sink, I see this one tree, looming closer to the house as the years pass. We’ve been in this home for nearly three years, and I’ve watched it’s transformation over the seasons. Barren, brown branches sit still throughout the fall and winter, it’s at it’s ugliest then. Raindrops cling to the branches, and a lone dead leaf will cling for a few weeks. Some trees make it through winter with their coats intact, or their leaves change into brilliant shades of orange and red. They seem to have purpose, to have grit. This cherry tree seems to lack all of those things. It just gets dampened by the rain, and is relentlessly pounded by the winter sleet and wind.
And yet, when early spring rolls around, the lifeless branches suddenly start producing buds. It’s magical, watching these thick buds bloom from beneath the bark. In a few weeks, the entire tree is transformed. It is a sight to behold. People stop by on their way to work, or on their walk and snap photos, everyday. The tree erupts into a cloud of pink, pale or hot, but always pink. It shudders with beauty, and the slightest brush of wind rustles the blossoms. Sometimes they trickle to the grass, but not until their season of laying down has come. Once this happens, they rain. The blossoms fall continually, thousands of them cover the pavement like snow. They get onto the car and the bottom of our shoes, and I find them crushed into the carpet.
By summertime, they have all but disappeared, and they leave behind lush green leaves. This tree is content to be until the air is laced with a delicate chill, which signals yet another death.
I have watched this tree transform over time. I have watched it blossom with a womb full, and with a newborn nestled against my chest. I have watched it turn green through the summer of her diagnosis, and I have watched it lose it’s coat with the approach of cold and flu season.
Although it sits stagnant throughout the winter, once the season of singing comes, it is magnificent, it is redeemed.
However hard and dark the winter nights are, it does come through. Although the surrounding trees may change very little throughout the seasons, this one is constantly changing. It’s because of this change, because of the wet and dry seasons, that is fully blooms and flourishes when the winter has passed away.