The other day, I looked outside my kitchen window into my back yard and noticed my tiny crate mertle standing lifeless.
We’ve had enough sunshine and rainy days, but still no life. No new leaves. I thought it was the end of my little purple mertle. The loss of this little tree was saddening. This little tree was a special gift. “I want to give you something you can watch grow,” my husband’s aunt pleaded. At the time, there was nothing in existence that could help us come to want for anything. We were at the time surrounded by much love. Love was hitting us, coating us, hovering over us, it was itself… a kind of gift. The tree was special, especially as I’ve learned that I find the most peace outside, where the plants, flowers, and animals grow.
Years ago, when we moved to our new home, we dug up our tiny tree from the dark and moist soil and took it with us. And like sweet butterfly kisses on the ground, it left behind tiny sprouting replicas of itself―making their way to the light like tiny miracles.
Today, as I watched from a far, it was lifeless. My tiny purple mertle, from a far, looked to be completely blackend, stiff, and lifeless. Just another, I thought. Just another one of life’s little cuts. I seem to have developed a rhythm of watching small happenings like these pass, only to leave behind small, but sharp cuts visible only to my eyes. Like habit, they are dusted off, covered up, and life moves on.
But then again, sometimes things aren’t much like they seem from a far. I stepped outside into my back yard to visit my little tree. Maybe I'd discover the cause. Maybe I wanted to say goodbye to the little tree we've had over 20 years, or maybe I just wanted to feel the warmth of the day's sunlight on my skin.
I came closer and closer. Walking over uneven ground, I stopped beside my tiny tree and leaned in for closer inspection. Instead of dead branches, I found new life. Bathed beneath the same warmth of sunlight, my little tree breathed new life.