Set to the very back of our neighborhood, at the very top of the longest hill, out in the front yard of our house stood the Jude tree. In the limbs of that tree was a place of childhood explorations and comfort - twinkling daydreams and secrets - teetering bravery and peace. This was a place that was always home. Surely, those humid summer days spent climbing seemed tranquil and endless, yet, it was years later in the dry frigid air, that a gravity became eternity. In seeing the changes created by the pressure of time, a new awareness was born: hold tight to the memories of childhood.
As a little girl, summer days were spent up in that front yard tree. A dangled leg sent the thick air rippling away like slow rolling echoes reaching out into the haze. The far off laughter of little Mikey and the boys clattered among the corners, all the bright and tidy aluminum houses bouncing the sounds this way and that. What pleasure, when a bit of breeze picked up and pushed undulating waves of green overhead sending sounds spilling down like a gentle tide. She creaked and swayed with such easy delight. Her long reaching boughs rubbed together and soft sighs radiated out through the air speaking secrets, like her name. Her rough limbs positioned delicately like enormous fingers waiting for a child to cradle. Glints of light twinkled down from her canopy above, making it hard to focus as colors danced across the eye. Easy hours passed tracing the coarse ridges of her wise finger prints. Out beyond her vibrant greenery stood all the rooftops below, which stood attentive - bright and alert - hopefully looking up at her beauty. The entirety of the world was at her feet. Here in the Jude tree, through the rising branches and bright green leaves, was a lazy place of peaceful tranquility perfect for passing hours playing and talking to a beautiful, mystical best friend.
Yet, as time presses in, seasons change and years pass, families move and children age, so the loveliness of a tree changes. The gravity of the moment was heavy, standing there grounded, feet numbed by the cold earth with nowhere to swing them. A childless, voiceless silence roared by houses now so crowded and drab. Bitter winds swept through, breaking loose small twigs which crashed silently to the ground in an insignificant and lifeless tragedy. She stood brittle and frigid. Once majestic boughs now dangled and rotted, snapped from earlier storms. Stumps of her severed fingers lingered. Blunted ends facing this way and that, hacked with a chainsaw's careless effort, oblivious to their former grace. Bare branches washed in a gray sadness loomed up toward the flat grey sky. Indifferent rows of homes below, now looked past her without a care. Here by the Jude tree, through the bitter winds and broken braches, loneliness and lifelessness stood stiff and bare.
No, peace and tranquility could not be found. It was gone now, cut away by careless hands and snapped by vicious winds. Time had pressed in. Just as the magical mind of a child becomes compressed by time's pressure and becomes responsible, predictable and burdened under its weight. It was just as the Jude tree had been changed by forces she could not control. Although peace and tranquility once played, now only loneliness ached here. Even as life, without fail, brings us tragedy and mourning, nothing can steal away the memories of a child held so loved and dear. In those memories is life.
