Life from life

 

Last fall I wrote here of the loss of a different kind of friend – the tree outside my bedroom window that always helped me greet each new day.  She is now split and stacked and protected from the elements under the deck, seasoning so that she can warm me one final time this coming season.

 

In her place last fall, I planted a new tree – small and spindly by comparison to be sure, but a reminder of she who once stood so proudly and a reminder that life goes on despite loss.  I rushed against the changing seasons to prepare the site, chose her carefully and planted her straight and tall in the sloping ground.  I fed her roots to help them unfurl and grasp her new home firmly, provided a stake to which she was lovingly secured to fortify her against the January winds and driving snow – and then watched anxiously during days of bitter cold and howling wind in hopes I’d done enough to help her start her new life safely.

 

As the days grew longer and the temperatures more mild, I checked every day for signs of life – gauging what I’d been told of her growth patterns against those of other trees in the yard.  And then one day, in the soft glimmer of a cool morning sun, I saw an unmistakable bud and – the closer I looked – more and more of them.  In the unseasonably warm Spring, the buds grew quickly – filling every branch with burgeoning life that grew larger and stronger with each day.

 

 

 

One morning, the air was filled with a rich, sweet fragrance.  Fuchsia blossoms that had delicately sprung forth overnight quivered in the breeze - and a bumble bee already busied himself, drawing sweet nectar from the tiny trumpets even as they began to open.  Birds chirped in approval nearby – perhaps planning a few years down the road when these same branches would be strong and sheltering enough to protect the births and first tentative flights of their great-grandchildren.

 

 

Now the blossoms are gone – replaced by shining, healthy leaves that reach eagerly toward the sky, seeking the nourishment of the sun and capturing the gentle rain for her roots to drink.  I visit her almost daily, both to ensure that she is appropriately nourished and to proudly watch her grow.

 

On the roadway behind the house and down the hill, the hustle and bustle of life and commerce continues - unabated and uninterested by this quiet microcosm of all that is good and right and full of light and new life – and all too soon it comes time to go back inside and deal with the issues of the day.  But each morning from now on, the space once occupied by my beloved friend will not seem quite so empty anymore, for she who now stands in her place will draw strength from the same soil and carry on her legacy - and the world will seem a little brighter place as a result.