Friday, December 25, 2009

merry christmas

Merry Christmas to all! or, Felices Fiestas! All I can give is what I have been working on:

She remembered the apple tree that grew in her backyard as a child. Then, she would watch her mother and father sit under the tree, napping, reading, biting into the fallen fruit. When she grew older, she desperately wanted a tree, just like the one they used to have. She wanted to sit beneath the tree, feel a slight breeze on her face, and be content.

She procured some seeds from the local nursery, a specific tree, the apple tree. She chose a spot in the middle of the front yard, amidst sunburnt grass, enough sun, perhaps too much, to keep the tree alive and luciously in bloom. She planted the seed and moistened the soil. She envisioned the day when she could sit under the tree, nap, read, and bite ripened fruit.

Every day she took care of the spot where the tree was supposed to grow, but the days turned into weeks and nothing had happened, no sign of life. She decided she would water the spot where the tree was supposed to grow twice a day, sometimes three.

The weeks turned into months.

She didn't understand why the tree was not growing. She grew impatient. She watered the plant more, each time asking it why it wouldn't grow.

I dug the hole for you, I gave you an abundance of water, I put you in the centre of my yard where you could have all the sun you wanted, she said to the spot where the tree was supposed to grow. Why aren't you growing?

She began to cry. At first it was just tears streaming down her face, but she got so angy and started sobbing. She didn't care if the whole world could hear her, she was in pain. That tree was so important to her. It was her life. She wanted it her whole life.

She began digging furiously into the spot where the tree was supposed to grow. The soil was still wet, muddy and thick. Pieces of mulch cut her hands and tore at her fingernails. Hands bloodied and pruned, she kept digging. She needed to see if the seed was alive.

Seconds turned to minutes.

Finally she found the seed, amidst mouldy soil, almost drowning in pools of muddy water. She saw that it had begun to hatch, a vibrant green sprout had formed, roots had begun to descend and anchor the seedling. It was growing, despite almost drowning. All of the water stunted its growth time, but it was still trying, fighting to live.

Then, she realized with a heavy heart, that by digging it up, she just killed it.

Sorry for being depressing and morbid. Merry Christmas.

1 comment:

  1. It is a morbid tale, but then you tend to write from where you are at.You may not cry, but you do express your feelings in your writings. This is all a new experience for you, you are on your own, in a different place and no mother to hold you, cry with (I know you don't cry)& just tell you to live your life your way. In the end you must do what is right for you, feels right for you, sometimes that means wallowing a bit in self-pity, just try not to stay there too long, or you'll become morbid. Life is a journey with many twists and turns, you'll get where you're suppose to be eventually, & have good & bad memories, experiences and that's life. Take care of you and the rest shall follow. Love you immensley...Your Mom