I love the bones of this tree. With no one around to observe, I finally stepped into the inner reaches of the tree branches, and “perused” to my heart’s content.
They’re repaving the neighboring parking lot, and replacing the lamp posts, so barely anyone even comes up this path, anymore. Why would you? Cars can pull up to drop things off, but most grad students have to walk from distant parking lots.
And so, this tree is left by its lonesome, and I can explore. I find the twists and turns of the tree limbs to have a charm all their own. They captivate me.
Why do the branches look so smooth, at a distance, but up close, they look like a million people have started to carve their initials… and then never finished?
And they don’t even need to carve hearts into the tree, because the tree grew its own heart. You can see for yourself.
Once inside the branches, you no longer notice or care about the leaves that grow on the outside edges. There aren’t enough of them to shelter you from the sides, though they do block out the sun, from above. Mostly.
I think that each one of these branches has a story, a reason for each scratch, twist, or turn. But I’ll never know what they are.
And so, I keep looking, for answers that aren’t there. Hidden in the heart and bones of a tree.