My Favorite Tree

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But, Sundry, you say, there are so many trees in the world!  How can you choose just one?

If you knew this cottonless cottonwood in the back yard of the house where I grew up, you wouldn’t have to ask.

Mom planted it when I was about ten, I think.  It was run over and cut off by the lawn mower at least once.  It’s so big and strong, and the leaves make a sound like the ocean when a breeze blows through them, which it almost always does out here in Bug Island.

Besides being beautiful on its own, I feel as though it holds the spirits of the much-loved trees that are gone now.  The two big willows, one of which bore my tree house (yes, I was a lucky lucky kid), and both of which were excellent for climbing.  The Bartlett pear tree, for the obvious fruity reasons.  The nameless tree in the corner that I knew so well that I could close my eyes at the back steps, walk across the yard and climb blind until I was 15 feet off the ground, getting me closer to the moon. The big tree across the road that I stood under to wait for the bus, that shaded our collie/St. Bernard Prince, that held me while I plowed through The Count of Monte Cristo.

All of them rolled into one majestic beast.

 

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3 thoughts on “My Favorite Tree

  1. That is one gorgeous tree, and I can well understand why it is your favorite!

  2. Michael says:

    What a magnificent tree!

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