The Tree

THE TREE

Oh how I love this tree. The pungent smell of leaves and wood and sun dried flowers all mixed together, and with each inhalation it gently swirls around inside of me, warming my bones and my soul.

I lay on my back feeling the soft rug spread out beneath me, warmed by the summer sun and giving off a perfume left from a previous user. I remembered the green tartan rug that we would all sit or lie on, and drop food onto. It would be taken into the house to be washed, smelling fresh and clean when spread out for the next tree house adventure.

 I stretch my arms above my head and just reach the pole that sits in one corner of the tree house – smooth from both the sanding it was given and the many hands that touched it before me. I shut my eyes and listen. The silence is only interrupted by the wind whistling through the dried leaves as it flows from the hills far away to my secret hideaway. I hear a shrill cry of a bird piercing the air, loud and full, the sound tailing off as it flies away.  “Where can the bird be going?” I ask rhetorically. I tend to think a single bird is flying back to his family after being away for a while, but a flock are all going to a social gathering of some sort, perhaps a birthday party.

I hear a buzzing sound and sit up quickly in case it’s a bee. I don’t particularly want to be stung by a bee. But when I lazily open my eyes I see that it’s a dragon fly. His long body is thick and as he stops to sit on top of my flask I see his transparent wings shining in the light. He seems to be looking at me with huge bulbous eyes and I look away. He must feel as if I have snubbed him because he flies off quickly and I once again lie down. Now I keep my eyes open and watch as the clouds float by like clumps of white fairy floss we used to have at the country fair many years ago. My mind wanders back to the fair and I can taste the soft and almost empty sweetness as we pulled a piece of fairy floss from the stick and put it into our mouth. It seemed that we had no sooner put it in than it was gone, dissolved into a sweet and sticky moistness and it was time for another blob.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that I lay on my back and watched the clouds float by. “Oooh I just saw a dog in the sky. And a cricket bat and ball. And that was definitely a tea cup, with a handle.” I used to imagine all sorts of different shapes from up here or down on the velvety lawn below, where, if it needed a mow, I could lie flat and still and pretend I was invisible. I can remember lying on my back just like this and realising that I had actually fallen asleep, the drifting clouds having a mesmerising effect on me. Sometimes I would be dreaming that the low lying clouds were so close I could reach out my hand and touch them, and I would wake up with one arm stretched out above my head.

All that cloud watching had made me hungry. So I unpack the thermos and pour sweet tea into the cup and sit back to enjoy it. Then I remember the biscuits, getting them out of the bag I open the packet and dunk the first one into my tea. “Oh this brings back memories” I muse. I think back to sitting up here with lemonade and biscuits (too young for tea my parents would say) and watching the families down below having their picnics. They didn’t know we could see them with our binoculars as they were too far away. It was fun seeing what they had brought in their picnic baskets. But after we had seen the sandwiches, cakes and other goodies being opened up and displayed on the colourful rug, we put our binoculars away and carried on with our game of snap or if it was only girls up here, a doll’s tea party.

The wind has increased and the coolness of it was a relief after lying in the sun and perhaps getting a little bit too much of it. Down below in the garden the bushes had grown out of control. I remember when it was my Father’s pride and joy. All precise edges and straight lines and inside of those the most pungent roses I have ever smelt. In each garden bed was a single colour but the range from light to dark included at least twenty roses in each bed. In Summer time the rose gardens captured your eyes and your heart – first you saw them and then your heart felt them. I looked at them now, overgrown, gnarly and with few undersized roses on each bush and turned away, feeling a little sad.

As I sit down again and take out my book, I hear what I think is the sound of a cat meowing. I peep over the edge of the railing and down the rickety weather beaten stairs and see a fat and fluffy tabby cat making its way to the top. “Hello pussy cat. Where have you come from?” I ask as the cat jumps from the last step on to the safety of the wooden floor. I didn’t expect the cat to reply so wondered why we talk to animals, stooping down towards them to make sure they can hear what we are saying. “We used to have a cat just like you and it loved to come up here in the tree house with us” I spoke out loud, as I patted the velvety soft grey and tan fur. “You’re welcome to stay here with me. I’m just going to read my book, but if you leave please don’t jump from the railing!”

The rug was very warm from the afternoon sun and as I plonked down on it the warmth went all the way through me. The sun had heated up the wooden boards and I could smell what I thought was eucalyptus. I breathed it in and felt a contentment that was usually lacking in my life. As I sat with my back against the railing and my eyes closed, I felt the cat brush up against me, firstly with his head, along his body and then its tail. The next thing I knew was that I had a heavy and friendly cat on my lap. “I must get stuck into this book. I really wanted to finish it before the weekend was over” I admonished myself, trying to wake up from my half sleep. The purring from the cat was like hypnosis. I could feel my arms and legs relaxing again, and with each exhalation I blew away tension and anxiety. The book fell from my arms onto the floor but I was in no state to care. I shifted about on the rug and found the most comfortable positon and let sleep takeover.

I dreamt of a girl running through long waving grass. Behind her she pulled a colourful kite, rising up high with each strong gust of wind. The girl’s hair was fair and curly and shone in the sun, like golden threads. The branches of trees were swaying flinging off leaves and soft flowers, which raced each other down to the bottom. The little girl was running very fast, the kite high up in the air. She tripped in the long grass and rolled until she came to a stop, still clinging onto the kite. Laughing she picked herself up and ran towards the house where her mother was calling her. “Lynley, Lynley” her mother was yelling out.

I woke abruptly and jumped up. The sun was starting to get lower in the pale blue sky and a slight chill was in the air. I caught a glimpse of the cat running quickly down the stairs, agile and nimble on its feet. “Lynley, Lynley. Are you coming down now?” the male voice asked. It took me a minute or two to get my bearings and to realise who it was calling my name. “Oh Charles, yes I’m coming down now. No I’m fine, I can climb down myself”.

I had once been that little girl in my dream, but now I was the aging wife and mother. I packed up the rug and my bag, popping my book into it, the marker in the same page as when I first got here.

“Are you ok? You aren’t too sad about it all?” Charles asked me, taking my hand as I climbed onto the last step and putting his arm around my shoulders. “Yes, I’m ok now I’ve been back and spent some time here. I’ve been down memory lane and relived the fun times of my childhood spent in this tree house. Now the bulldozers can come in and do their job. I won’t come back again, but I will take with me the memory of this beautiful, peaceful place in my mind and heart.