The Tree In The Backyard Of My Childhood Home

The tree before me looked remarkably similar to the one in the backyard of my childhood home

Even now, a decade later, I could still recall the details of its trunk intimately

Every line, collar and canopy of its wide circumference, from the root flare to the branch union and beyond

If I was not in school, I would spend most of my time in that backyard

Playing, scheming and designing obstacle courses around its features, like the cubby house or the sandpit

Hence, it was only natural that the tree became a pillar in my life, both literally and figuratively

As I grew in stature, my eye-line to its bark allowed for new levels of total familiarisation

Similar to a kitsch children’s growth chart that one would typically find carved into the wall of a family home, I marked my evolution against how well I knew the trunk before me

Looking down felt familiar, safe (I had outgrown it)

Looking up felt bold, exciting (the world was endless)

Now, as I stood before this new tree

I pondered how the lack of affiliation still allowed for it to feel so oddly familiar

As if I had spent my whole adolescence prancing barefoot on grass that grew inches above its complex root system

I mean, honestly, it was just a fucking tree

But I had felt compelled to stop my pilgrimage walk (Via Francigena) to observe it

A soft, blue breeze sent down from the sky landed upon its appendages, sending an echo of movement through the foliage

Bright yellow leaves bid farewell to their axils and somersaulted like vaulting gymnasts to the ground

I reached up and teased one of its branches, kickstarting the same phenomenon

The forest floor was decorated with a dense layer of humus and duff, mostly brown and damp green

It felt as though the tree was fragile, standing in its own debris

I wondered how this tree emotionally placed the autumnal stage

And whether or not its shedding was a difficult adjustment or simply something that just happened

I found myself reflecting that if I were a tree, unavoidable nakedness would be frightening

If my trunk were bare and on full display during the winter months, I would probably kill myself

But maybe trees were as impartial as dogs seemed about the thinning of their lush coats

Or perhaps they, like people, they felt a certain comfort in modest coverage

After all, we all feel more at ease in a baggy t-shirt and a fresh blow wave than in intimates and a swimming cap

Even though it was at least four times my height, I could not help but feel I should shrink myself in its presence

It was as if I did not deserve orbit the trunk had I not previously studied its root collar from start to finish

The same way I had the beautiful beast of my backyard

Alongside the crippling inferiority and sudden nostalgia

I felt a bizarre and unexpected wave of tranquillity

My ears were abruptly cold

My backpack swiftly lighter

I realised:

If a tree were able to move through the seasons with grace and master the dance between summers of vanity and winters of insecurity

Then I must be equally as equipped

Let it be

Let things be

Time will move

Things will change

I am things

I am movement

We are time