In rhetorical fashion, I ask who would’ve thought living in a third floor apartment would be a blessing?
The variety of leaves adorning my vista and blocking out the rest of the world from my line of sight provide a Garden of Eden serenity that makes me appreciate Adam and Eve’s departure from that paradise as all the more tragic with visceral certainty. Maybe they didn’t realize what they were giving up at the time, having not experienced the world outside their little haven. The banishment they suffered was more severe than most imagine.
Every afternoon, as the sun descends from its apex and graces this place with streams of light that wend their way through the foliage, I cannot help but stare out at the variety of green shadings, some deeper and some so pale as to appear translucent, while imagining the world begins and ends just there, a few feet away. It is my overcoat of fantasy, my aegis against the immense insanity of society and all the screaming noises that comprise it.
Here, car horns and rumbling motors are silenced by the insulation of the swaying verdure, trees happy to absorb the shock of these most unnatural sounds on the far end of the copse and provide the somber peace that is their legacy, their raison d’être, on this end of it. Were I capable of finding an adequate way to express my deep gratitude for their sacrifice in this regard, there would be no hesitation to do so. But what act might I realize that would be received as an expression of my appreciation. Our language barrier seems impenetrable.
Conceivably though, just my admiration of their beauty is gift enough. Or perhaps, they are so selfless they are immune to such sentiment, delighting to be nothing more than what they are, seeking no connection beyond the privilege of existing upon a shared world of water, air, and sunlight. It is difficult to conceive of such self-possession, and my own obstinance fails to accept that notion.
Witnessing the red shoots covering the immature new leaves, as yet unfurled, that signal the birth of new foliage to add to the crowd of lush greenery, I can imagine that one day yet, these trees will touch the sky and be deserving of such lofty ideals. (If actually touching the sky were a thing, that is). Inclined with the brain such as I possess, I count those new sheaths and also note when the casings detach, when the silent celebration of maturity has opened the new fledgling leaf to experience the sun and wind and rain without further need of protection. And all we have been and all we are and all we shall be is accentuated by this one simple revelation. They may ask for no rejoicing, no special attention, and yet, I celebrate. It is not for the tree; it is for the recognition of the inexorable need of life’s expansion into yet another generation. Such it has been since our beloved planet came to exist, and such shall it be until the day our life-affirming planet can no longer sustain itself. I do hope the trees shall have reached the sky ever before that day.
With each afternoon, I wallow in the unhurried pace of foliage tickled by the breeze, copying the bouncing and swaying motion they exhibit as expressed by the circulating air enriching them. Gleaning deeper understanding with the unhurried passage of time as I bear them witness, our kinship grows as the trees teach me those most important lessons that schools never did—the pace is not mine to set and the elements are beyond my ability to control. Indeed, nothing but my breath is my own, and that too will one day stop outside of my control. But there is no sadness there—this is life.
Were it possible, I’d want to root myself as those trees are rooted, attached to the nutrient-rich soils at their feet and drink in the sunlight until sated without need of further activity or further thought. They are climbed upon by creatures who use the shade they provide for comfort, lighted upon by birds who build nests upon their sturdy branches, and find no discomfort in sharing what they have, asking nothing in return for such service. Each day, the privilege of being taught in silent communication affords me a deeper peace.
Perhaps the question is not so rhetorical after all.
