tree

The limb that split off from the master trunk in last week’s thunderstorm is beginning to die. I look out my window and see two different shades of green: the lush deep green of the living leaves and the fading, dehydrated green of the cracked limb. The branches are all twisted among themselves and I know the best thing would be to take the tree down entirely. But, although I would love to never have to rake up those monstrous leaves once more, I know I’d hate to have a clear vista into my neighbor’s yard and them into my office. I’d detest seeing the depressingly disintegrating alley every time I sit at my desk. It’s the lovely green wall between me and across the alley. One winter day, although of course the tree wasn’t green, I had a moment of great grace looking at the tree through a thick fog. It’d been raining slightly, but more than rain the air was dense with impenetrable fog. Only about ten feet away, I stared into the tree as I avoided whatever was on my desk. Slowly my attention started to focus on the tree and I saw a beautiful morning dove hunkered down on a branch, its head drawn deep toward its body, motionless on its perch as its branch swayed. It warmed me to see how this bird took shelter against the storm. And then, as I was focused finally on the tree, I slowly noticed another dove, and another, and another. Until I realized the entire tree was filled with doves waiting out the rain. Through the fog I counted about fifteen doves attached firmly to their branches in the winter drizzle.