| Dust Collectors |
| Short stories, workshop pieces, poems, sketches and other odds and ends to share. |
| The Tree |
| "If not, I will still be here. If not there is always tomorrow.” |
She sat in the soft worn armchair near the window. The rain was falling gently against the glass as she
stared out hopefully at the empty road. Perhaps today they would come. Perhaps today.
They lived only a short distance away, her children. Now grown with families of their own, they lived
only a few minutes drive from the house they had called home. Her grandchildren were much more
scattered, but some still lived in this small town that had seen them grow from infancy. Only a short
distance away, but their lives kept them far from her.
The view from the window centered on a large white pine that dominated the yard. It had grown so tall
in the years since they had planted it. Her eyes misted over with memory and the years faded away.
The sun shown bright that June morning when he had stood in his shirt sleeves, white cuffs rolled up,
wiping early sweat from his brow. The shovel in his hands would leave no calluses on the work-
hardened skin. His heavy soled boots stomped on the lip of the blade and forced it into the hard black
earth. Brawny arms hefted spade-fulls of soil clearing the hole. When he had deepened the hole
enough to create the womb in which they would plant the small sapling, he sat down his shovel and
knelt beside her.
“You’ll see, Anna,” he had told her confidently. “You’ll see. It will grow. It will grow tall and proud.
One day we will have the finest pine on the street.”
“It’s nothing more than a stick,” she had argued. “It has no roots, John. How do you expect it to
grow?”
“It will grow because it has to,” he had gazed up at her with his blue eyes. “The only other choice is to
die. It won’t die, Anna. It will choose to live.”
She shook her head at him, her black hair falling into her face, before she reached to sweep it away.
“John, nothing grows without roots.”
“We did,” he said simply, his hands patting the dirt into place. “We came to this town with nothing.
Our families so different. We had no roots, Anna, and we have grown. This little tree will grow as well.
Our children will play in its shade; they will decorate its boughs at Christmas. As it grows, our family
will grow.”
He reached down to help her stand. The baby would come soon, their first, and it wasn’t easy for her
to get up and down now. His arm around her he looked absurdly proud of the small brown twig poking
up from the ground. “It will grow.”
It had, now it was beautiful. After sixty years it was the largest on the street. It had grown and their
family had grown. As each new member was added, it had grown taller. As each child moved on, the
tree remained.
Gazing out at the thin green needles covering dark limbs she saw its branches move and heard it
creak. It seemed to be acknowledging her. “Perhaps they will come today. Perhaps they will visit us
today. If not, I will still be here. If not there is always tomorrow.”
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