Three Trees And Me

Moment to moment life is what I make it. I cannot change what is, but I am reminded of an afternoon years ago.

It was one of those warm sunny afternoons in Spring when the idea of Easter bunnies and Disney birds seem as likely as anything else. I sat on my screened in porch gazing out at the ornamental cherry trees in my side yard and, on impulse, got up and walked out under them. As I approached the first tree, I found myself in a flurry of pink petals. Their delicate roundness and impossibly light weight left the surreal impression of a fairy rain storm, a magical mixture of color, light and wind that seemed more in my mind than my senses.

A moment later, the sun went under a cloud, the air became permeated with the smell of impending rain and, almost immediately, I found myself pelted by huge, cold, hard, raindrops and dashed for cover.

The locust tree leaned wildly into the wind, dropping lady fingers into our pool. The little leaf linden began shedding all its parts in a mad attempt to stand firm and the oak tree over the back yard fence stood solidly watching us all. The world was making one of those transitions that marked the spaces between tranquility and chaos and I was there to see it.

Screened in porches are wonderful places. They put just the thinnest barrier between me and the world. I stood in the facade of that safe place watching the fury of earth's power descend upon my world. The pattering sound of rain bouncing off the roof and the soft squishy sound of it plopping off the plants in my yard soon stopped. The sun reappeared dressed in the sick, greenish, yellow glow that precedes tornadoes and I stood in absolute silence. It was one of those unnatural silences, where not even the birds make a sound, because we all knew what came next.

It snaked down out of the clouds like a finger probing an infected boil. Delicate, tentative, a white swirl twisting down and then back up in a sort of erratic pulsing. I could almost imagine the giant mouth of the wind god huffing and puffing, blowing this tornado in. Vaguely aware that I should go inside, I stayed there, transfixed by the strange beauty unfolding before me. Perhaps this is the feeling a mouse has when the cobra fixes it with those unfathomable steely eyes just before it strikes. I could not move.

A second later I heard the roar of a freight train rushing down upon me and glanced up to see the a smoky grayness replacing the white finger in the clouds above. And then it was gone. The rain reappeared, thunder crashed in the distance and lightning flashed, turning the three trees into back lighted silhouettes.

I sat on my porch enjoying the storm and contemplating the brief moments leading up to it. Each one had seemed like an eternity, a moment in time where all my senses were fully engaged and I realized this was the way I like to live.