Keeper of the Garden - Tree Tuesday

Please speak, old friend. I know it has been long—almost a century—but you must remember. I lost my memory too, until I stumbled upon you. Your drippy, mossy branches show your age, but you are full of vitality still. And generosity, says the resurrection fern. I know this place, though it all faded away some time ago. I feel it in me—it flashes back in little pictures.

You and I, we know each other, old man of the path. You are a bit twisted from age, but still handsome. I walked this path, and you swayed your branches in the wind like a peacock fanning its feathers. You dropped down your leaves to fall around me, to be with me. Those leaves are long since dust. Reborn I stand in the same place, but now only a tourist—and you haven’t even died yet. I have to go now, my new life calls me. The little ones need me, but you don’t. You’ve long sense forgotten me.

I love you still, keeper of the garden.