Secret Garden & the Oak tree & Me
Journal entry- #45
Florence De Peyster – Sept 9th, Thursday 1985
Through the unraveling vines
and leafy bushes of the secret garden
I see an oak,
mighty, with its roots clutching the soil
like guarding an old, secret treasure.
The trunk was a shade of deep chestnut.
I circle the towering tree
to find it hollow on the inside,
with cobwebs dangling.
I blow at them.
So fragile- clinging onto the lifeless tree
drifting down, onto the daisies at my feet.
I squint at the tree,
Feeling the powerful yet perished roots that extend
farther that I could imagine.
grabbing the dirt below it tight,
as if it feared that it would slip away one day.
Powerful but. weak.
Florence De Peyster – Sept 9th, Thursday 2018
It did.
I’ve watched the oak tree from my window every day.
Spring, summer, fall, winter.
Spring, summer, fall, winter.
Again, again, and again.
Years.
Slowly-
Between wood cracks grew mushrooms, large and colorful, different sizes.
They spread faster than wildfire.
In months, the main trunk was decomposed.
Crumbled, like a brittle cookie.
The grass grew a more vibrant green.
Until-
until all that was left was a tree trunk.
Weak wasn’t even the word to describe it.
There was barely anything to feel anymore.
It was gone.
But the memory it left in me was more than “powerful”.
It was all those years of childhood
grief
joy
and patience.
Waiting and watching…
I will never forget the oak tree in the secret garden.
