Song of the Tree Outlined Against the Primavera Sky
I used to dream about living in a tree when I was younger. Like some impish fairy, I’d curl up in the hollow trunk amongst beds of fallen leaves and moss. I’d make friends with the squirrels, pick my breakfast off nearby branches, and spend long days doing nothing but looking at the sky. The flowers that drift down from the bows would be woven through my long hair, like a princess that never wanted to be rescued. I’d tiptoe across the limbs with perfect balance and do pirouettes from tree to tree, without any fear of ever falling. And if I did, it would be like a feather, drifting down in the exhales of the breeze till I was laid so softly on the ground that I might be asleep and never know it.
As I sit here on this beautiful spring afternoon, gazing out the window, I feel in my limbs a dream that never died. I hum Vivaldi’s “Primavera” as the branches of the tree outside my window unravel gracefully towards me, stretching outside of their rigid winter silohouette. They bow and curtsy in the breeze, dancing a dance that no one but the wind knows but that we all can feel. Those curled arms, beckoning towards me, pull me in, wrapping me in the renewal of spring, in the softness of the slow breathing of the earth as it draws deeply from the sun once again. As in the days when I would spend hours in trees, waiting for nothing in particular, I wish again that I could live scattered amongst those branches.