Why do I love to see a wild cherry tree? Well, in and of itself, it has such a beautiful presence…the promise of leaf burst, the promise of blossom, the promise of fruit…the shape of the boughs, the colour and texture of the bark…the way the birds flit or stay. But also, for me, it is a view from a window that I loved and still long for at times. Or rather, it is a ‘being’ in a certain place, a certain time, a certain rendition of ‘me’ that I recall through the lens of memories. For me a wild cherry tree is a blessing, a benediction;
My bedroom window, propped open with a length of ‘once was’ chair leg whose chipped layers of paint told their own story, back in the 1970’s…
See there, the dancing cherry blossom playing on the grass –
fluttering over the tulips, singing its fleeting freedom,
gifting the eddying breeze its perfume and form
as it kisses the wide-eyed daisies.
And feel the softness of that April air,
like a petal on your lips,
like the sun warmed pool of a burn,
like a lullaby.
Look, the little length of wooden chair leg;
the fragmented remnants of paint-
green and cream and sky blue,
that fits so perfectly to prop the window up.
And how the lichened slates feel warm,
bright ochre against the pastel grey, where the roof slopes.
My roof, I thought then, when ‘now’ was ‘always.’
Living in those moments – it must be forty years have gone,
and I was right; my window, my cherry tree, my April day,
a part of the fabric of my soul, a benediction of peace,
for ‘then’ and ‘now’ and ‘always.’