May 8, 1971 - Tree-Child

I have worked hard at sanding my garage - my right arm is weak with the exertion of it. I now sit in my own yard in fair, fly May weather. I love my yard. The late sun pours over me through the small leafy elm seed dusters - the bamboo wind chimes rattle orientally & musically - the tire swing turns slowly - the lilac bush is huge & heavy with its tight grape-colored bud-spires soon to be so lovely - good to drown one's head into.

But before me is the best - my own son's own maple tree - Censpah - of the magic, mysterious, meaningful (to him) Indian name. It possesses 8 stems, one larger than the rest, one smaller than the rest & 6 of even and average thickness. It is starred along each stem with ruddy young leaves - rusty red where the sunlight rests on them - pink & pale fresh green where the sunlight shines through them. Why is it so beautiful to me? It is like a gem, a shrine. It is as tho of Doug's own creating. He found the seed, already sprouting perhaps on his way home from school one day, years ago, planted it in our flower bed where it grew until about a foot high. Then we moved it to a better bed where it flourished further for another year or 2, until we felt it should be moved away from the house to its final resting place, tho we hesitated to just where & when.

I came home from work one day last fall to find Doug had dug it up & was debating where to plant it. All the dirt had fallen away from the roots & I despaired for its well-being but we had to & dug a hole, placed it therein, filled around it and hoped for the best. As winter approached it took on a very sad appearance. Its few leaves had dropped in a way that seemed more dead than the fall season could account for. I truly thot it was lost to us but yet here now this new year, this blessed time of all new years it came back to us as tho it always knew it would, as naturally as eternity would dictate and I sit before it now encouraged & refreshed by its very presence, one of our most, truly most, valuable possessions, precious beyond words or value, our own tree-child, a beauty four feet tall.