It has been a while since I’ve sat and really looked beyond grass and trees (or snow) to see things in the backyard as other than just what they are. It used to be an everyday occurrence; it stopped I suppose when my head was filled with too much already. But as I try to shed some problems to make room for exploration of new ideas or just to see what things in nature can tell me, my mind is beginning once again to open up in welcome.
The little flowering cherry tree on the left was planted the first year we moved here, and it was three feet tall at that time. It is supposed to be a full sized sour cherry tree with some serious pies in mind. It is five feet tall, after almost sixteen years.
The cottonless Cottonwood to its right was planted about six or seven years later. It too was about three–maybe less–feet tall. It rises seventy or eighty feet perhaps into the sky.
You can see the little cherry tree starting to lean to its left, fighting for some sunlight in its now shaded spot beneath the Cottonwood. I don’t know if it spent all these years growing roots, or if it didn’t like where it was, or didn’t like me. But it had several years on its own to gloriously grow into the space it was given. It didn’t budge. A late bloomer, spurred to action by the reflection of its fast-growing neighbor, or just cautious and fearful now coming into some sense of confidence and pride.
I don’t think it’s a question of youth overcoming age. I think it’s a case of knowing when to take advantage of opportunity, or to not be afraid to grow. Sometimes I feel like the little cherry tree and I wonder if we can still make it.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology