They Wait...

“Hey! Hey you! Look around the yard. Can’t you see what’s happening?”

“What?”

“Look around you!”

“Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, I’m talking to you! Don’t you see what’s happening?”

“I see it.”

“Aren’t you going to do something?”

“I will. When I’m ready.”

“When you’re ready? When will you be ready?”

“When everything is right.”

“What does that even mean?” 

No response.

“What’s wrong with that tree?” said the young Redbud to the tree next to him.

“They wait,” said the older, more experienced Oak.

“They wait? What for?”

“She told you,” said the Oak. “They wait for things to be right.”

“I don’t know what that means,” said the Redbud.

“Look around - can’t you see it?” 

The young Redbud glanced impatiently around the yard. He saw old trees, young trees, grass, dandelions - every growing thing showed the first signs of spring: buds of various sizes, mostly green, some yellow. The annual transformation was happening with nature coming to life, but towering over everything was the huge Pecan tree. The huge, bare Pecan tree that was being so stubborn.

“I see Spring starting,” said the Redbud.

“Exactly,” said the Oak.

“I see it too,” said the Crepe Myrtle in the far corner. “I love it.”

“It’s all around us,” said the Redbud. Everything is blooming. Everything except the Pecan.

“No kidding,” said the giant Pecan tree.

“Well?” said the Redbud.

“Well what?” said the Pecan. She turned to the Oak, “Was he here last year?”

“He was just a sapling last year,” said the Oak. “He didn’t really know what happens around here.”

“He still doesn’t,” said the Pecan. She went back to lounging in the middle of the yard, gazing at her huge, bare branches stretching to the house on one side, and over the fences on the other three sides of the yard. She was by far, the biggest living thing in the yard and, as the impetuous Redbud pointed out - she had yet to come out with a bud.

“He’ll figure it out,” said the Crepe Myrtle.

“You all know I can hear you, right?” said the Redbud, blushing. 

“Yep,” said the Pecan.

“Are you making fun of me?” said the Redbud, turning redder.

“No,” said the Pecan. “Just relax; be patient.”

“I’m patient.”

“No,” said the Oak, “you’re really not. Try to relax and enjoy the sunshine. We had a tough winter, and some of us didn’t make it after the ice storm.”

The trees looked solemnly at a smaller Oak near the house. The February ice storm that blasted Texas hit that tree more than the others, for some reason. The top broke off, and had been cut up and carried off by the human from the house. No one was yet sure if that tree was still alive.

“My cousin,” said the big Oak. “I don’t think he’s going to live.”

“I’m sorry,” said the Redbud. “I’m not so sure about my little cousin over there by the patio.” 

The youngest Redbud, planted just two years ago, was barely three feet tall, and the thin branches were still bare and gray.

“She’s young,” said the Oak. “I think she’ll pull through.”

“I hope so,” said the Redbud. “That Oak was young too, and he looks like he’s not going to make it. That’s really sad. I just wish the Pecan would show some signs of life - of Spring.”

The Pecan remained silent, standing majestically in the center of the yard. 

 “They wait,” said the Crepe Myrtle. “They know Spring is here, but they wait.”

“Wait for what?” said the exasperated Redbud. “Can’t I get a straight answer around here?”

“We all have our curves and bends,” said the Oak. “We’re all different, and we do things in our own time.”

“Maybe so,” said the Redbud. “But I’m ready, and so are most of the other trees and plants around here. Even that bare spot on the ground is growing some grass.”

“That’s nice to see,” said the Crepe. “It sure wasn’t too pretty last year - just dirt showing.”

“It was the dogs,” said the Oak. “They do their business in that spot, and it killed off the grass.”

“That’s not nice,” said the Redbud.

“They have to go somewhere,” said the Crepe.

“Why don’t they just go in the house?” said the Redbud. “They live in there.”

“I don’t think the humans like that,” said the Oak. “ Dogs have to come outside with us to take care of such things.”

“It’s murder,” said the Redbud. “They murdered the grass in that spot with their toxic stuff.”

“Well,” said the Crepe. “Like I said - they have to go somewhere. It’s just a little grass.”

“That’s mean,” said the Redbud. “They’re still living things, even though they’re a lot smaller than we are.”

“It’s the way the world works,” said the Oak.

“I don’t always like the way the world works,” said the Redbud.

“We know,” said the Pecan.

“There you go again,” said the Redbud. “Making fun of me.”

“She’s just making an observation,” said the Oak.

“So am I, and I observe that everything but the Pecan is budding,” said the Redbud.

“I heard about a few Mesquite trees down the block,” said the Crepe. “They wait, like the Pecan.”

“How do you know that?” said the Redbud. “I can’t see that far.”

“A little bird told me.”

“The birds don’t talk to me,” said the Redbud.

“You’re young and impatient,” said the Crepe. “Your limbs are thin; they whip around, and it kind of scares the birds.”

“I’m sorry,” said the Redbud. “I don’t mean to.”

“It will get better,” said the older Oak. “Experience is a good thing.”

“I’m tired of waiting for experience,” said the Redbud.

“We can see that,” said the Oak. “Like I said: try to be patient.”

“If I’m patient, will the Pecan begin to bud, like the rest of us?”

“In her own time,” said the Oak. “They wait…”

“They wait…” said the Crepe.

“ I know,” said the Redbud. “They wait.”

“Yep,” mumbled the Pecan.