The TREE

 

Their Tree

It was  their tree even before they knew they would be together. It stood on a patch of ragged grass on the junction of his road and the road that led to hers. There she would wait,  her heart beating  fast in her chest in anticipation of seeing him. He would always be late, and she would watch  him, satchel beating time on his back as he ran to meet her.  His smile matching hers as they walked to school side by side not touching although she would feel the heat from his body and smell the soap clean scent of him as they walked.

It was their tree on not quite dusk evenings when all but a few  had been called to bed and only they and the older boys were still out. In summer, the branches weighed heavy with clover shaped leaves that  formed  a green waterfall behind which they were hidden and alone.  Then, leant against  its trunk oblivious to the roughness of the bark, they would  kiss, eyes closed, lips parted and tongues exploring. His body pressed against hers, she learned what it felt like to be desired by his curious and gentle touch. And later, when they talked of love and a life together, he carved their names  into  the bark with his penknife, accidentally nicking her finger making it bleed, and him cry for having hurt her.

It was her tree in the Autumn he went away to college. His excitement at the prosect of adventure a hard idea for her to hold  and smile through. Only the falling leaves seemed to understand  the tears she wept at his going as they lay brittle brown at the base of the trunk the days she walked off her loneliness.

It was their tree that  on winter  Sunday walks they taught their children that trees like to be hugged. Four pairs of hands only just able to reach one another as they encircled its trunk; ears pressed close to the bark eyes closed, oblivious to the bemused stares of passers by. The hunt to find their names tattooed in the bark- lost among many  others added since.  Warning excited children not to trip over  roots that made the pavement  undulate and crack as if they were  trying to break free from the ground below.

It was their tree to  which she would push her grandson to  hunt for the  conkers not taken   by squirrels,  taking them home to place in corners to ward off the spiders. The broad trunk and sweeping branches; majestic and flamboyant became base for  games of  hide and seek in which  her legs were soon tired and shouts of “ seen you Grandma” became  more frequent as the years took their toll.

It was their tree to which with the aid of sticks they both ambled each day after lunch in the late summer of their lives. Stopping to catch their breath their memories often catching them unaware as time seemed to stand still.  Sat comfortably  in the silence of each other’s company, breathing in the freshness of leaf heavy air listening to the flap and coo of the wood pigeons  in the branches above them.

“ I love you” he whispered to the breeze, and both she and the tree sighed in reply.

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