The Tree And The Stars

Everyday the world closes in.

Walls tighten and confine me to my seat as I look out my window once again. The courtyard is a green and gray blur, I’ve worn my contacts fewer than a dozen times in the past 3 months, but I don’t need them to describe the world outside.

Brick snakes its way through patches of green, a walking path hardly used anymore as grass and weeds try to burst through. Try to reach across the man-made obstacle that separates bush and flowers from grass and a plum blossom tree. They call for each other as the overgrown grass tries to crawl across. The morning sun begins with a nostalgic warmth, hugging the walls opposite me in a silhouette as the mustard yellow challenges the gloomy indigo dusk sky for dominance.

Birds sing, their nest held in the arms of the plum blossom. One flies away in a morning routine, dancing in the wind as she discovers the world once again. The sun’s chariot travels higher in the sky as a new day begins with a blinding light, bursting through my windows. Harsh, blinding, unapologetic as the sun shines its spotlight onto the plum blossom’s grassy stage.

For a moment the tree stops waving her branches, facing sudden stage fright as the southern wind beckons her to move. The birds left in the nest stop singing, as though they had forgotten their lines before their audience of glass windows and brick walls.

The courtyard bathes in the sun, unwelcoming and alone. Stone stairs lead from the brick path to white doors that have become anxious and restless. Neighbors leave in a hurry, creating a beeline for an opening in the apartment complex, stairs that lead down to a parking lot. Flowers sit uncomfortably, realizing just how much they loved to eavesdrop. Loved to see gatherings around the plum blossom as laughter echoed, bottlecaps snapped open, and lawn chairs were laid out on as neighbors told stories. A bumblebee travels from flower to flower, circling around the courtyard. As apartment windows spark a bright yellow, and the sky turns a hazy gray, the flowers turn their attention to the stage once more. The tree turning her attention upward to the night sky.

A song calls out and the tree awakens from her slumber. The sun rising once more as the tree cradles the birds nest in her arms.

She dreamt of vast forests and endless horizons. Trees with leaves of every hue, and budding flowers that bloomed creating an excellent display of nirvana. Of belonging. Of sweet aromas matched with sour rain that kissed her every branch and left dazzling rainbows, inspiring birds and bugs to hum beautiful melodies.

The tree opens her eyes.

She looks around and sees the walls and windows of apartment buildings surrounding her. The grassy stage at her feet wet with dew as the tree stretches her neck for air. For a view above the apartment buildings. Standing on tip toes to look beyond the brick barriers that obstruct her view of the world. Closing her into a box. Suffocating, as the birds leap and sing, dance around her and into the great beyond.

At a loss, the tree looks up instead. She reaches for the sun as it moves across the sky, painting with its brush of light that fills every speck of the Earth with color. The tree still reaches as dusk brings orange and purple to the sky, till finally the sun stops its blinding gaze and stars reveal their intricate patterns. I can’t see the stars from my window, and I can only imagine what the tree sees as the apartment lights turn off one by one. In a near slumber, the tree must be counting the stars...and with a drowsy creativity she must be imagining the stars dancing in their infinite space.

“If the stars are truly infinite, then somewhere out there is my self portrait,” the tree thinks. “A tree just like me, made of stardust and wonder, and dancing with no walls, on a stage for all the world to see,” and she imagines how delightful that must be.

The tree is stuck in the courtyard. Her world a cave of brick. I sit in my apartment and see her through the window, and I empathize with the lonely tree. The sun rises once more and a gust of wind brushes against her leaves in the morning sun. It’s days like these that she sees the birds dance in the wind, and the tree waves her arms and dances as well. Her world a brick cave, yet she still dances as though she were free.