The Tree

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The Tree

by Stephanie Evans

“Behold, I have tattooed you on the palm of each of My hands...and your walls are continually before Me” (Isaiah 49:16).

I pulled my butcher block and white kitchen hair outside to the second floor porch to watch wind whip the shedding sycamore tree, located to the right of the building where I live with nine other residents--one married couple and the rest of us single in different apartments.

Rain slanted to the right, to the left, and steadied straight down. The cool wind refreshed, but blew strong.

One other tree, besides the sycamore, stands on the front left side of the courtyard of our apartment complex. I wanted to make a phone photo of the bark of the tree on the left side to send to one of my brothers, who's now retired from the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency. He and I like birds and trees, and he helps me identify both. He said the left-side tree, with falling yellow at the time, could have been a sourwood, meaning autumn was on the way. Autumn always relieves me, the escape from summer's relentless heat. I pine for autumn each year, with its brilliant gold and red colors, the sweet crispness of cider and always, the cooler air, the fresh scent of fall's clarity.

But on the porch that stormy evening, the summer wind riveted my attention to the shedding sycamore. The big sycamore leaves flipped their silver undersides up while the rain washed and the wind shook the tree.

The sycamore stands tall with a large main trunk. But one branch of the tree is different, and seemed to struggle the most. I don't know what happened, but this one branch had lost most of its bark, revealing a fragile greenish underbelly unlike the other branches. Also, the single branch 50 // November 2020

sets apart, for whatever reason, from the main tree and family of branches. The family branches seemed to comfort each other during the storm. The wind moved them, but not so violently, like they'd grown up together.

Not so for the lonely branch. While the wind played, danced and raged just enough for most of the branches and leaves, the same wind forced the solitary limb to work harder. (Lord, I prayed during the storm, please don't let the

power go off this time). I think the lonely limb prayed too. (Lord, if the wind gets any stronger, I may break clean off).

I believe the mother trunk wanted to reach out and pull her solitary branch close to her heart during that storm. But the single branch held her own. She held herself real careful, and swayed, and captured my own heart. I hoped to always look out for her in a storm, pen in hand. (Just last week, I saw a big bright green leaf on that storm-tossed limb, perhaps getting ready to change into autumn apparel). So now autumn is here, as we all gather together apart, greeting each other as best we can, with kindness and apples and God's arms wrapped tightly around us.

About The Author Stephanie B. Evans is a resident of Cleveland, TN, mother of two adult children and grandmother to one granddaughter. She is a former newspaper reporter, feature writer and library clerk who currently writes on a freelance basis. She can be reached at s.b.evans287@gmail.com

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