Tree Head

Although her tree is old, bare and never bears fruit, the birds return each and every spring. In the winter the bark becomes coarser and harder while the large crack down its body grows ever so slightly. Sometimes she worries that as time goes on the crack will eventually break her tree and the birds will no longer have a home for the spring. She worries so much that she forgets to ride a bike, wash the dishes, watch her favourite TV show, go to class, swim at the beach, watch the sunset, read a book, call a boy...........it fills her with a profound melancholy as deep as the roots of the tree reach into the earth for sustenance.

It is winter now and the birds are away, floating on a distant breeze as gentle as the hair of a new born baby. They will not return for a season or so. Until then, the tree dries slowly only to become a fraction of a whisper of its former glory.


She prays for the birds to return, but she can only hear the cool breeze echoing in the hollow of her tree.