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When I was very small, there was a huge Mimosa tree (Albizia julibrissin, Durz.). In some places this tree is called the Silk Tree. The tree was in the yard that adjoined my grandparents, a lovely old couple, Nile and Audrey Alfermann. This tree was there probably for a century, given its size, it was as large as some of the older oaks, the sheer girth of this tree was intimidating. The long branches touched the ground almost all the way around it, creating in summmertime a dark green "room" where I would play for hours. Beneath its branches I would spread out a homemade quilt and slumber, only thunder and rainclouds rolling in from over the Missouri River would ever make me want to come inside. It was a friend and I think from that tree I learned to hear the voices of the plants around me.
One morning, it was winter, just after Christmas, the year after I had suffered from my burns, I looked out over the barren yard to the place where my beloved tree would have been. just an inch and a half was the wood circumfrence of a stump. I felt as if someone had murdered a friend. I went out to the yard and I remember feeling heartsick. I know I cried about it. No more would the beautiful sheltering green cover the yard, and no more would I smell the beautiful pink flowers whose perfume was like no other.
Over the years, I still remember that tree, and the gifts it gave to a very young child. Somewhere in Spirit Garden of my heart, that tree lives on, and offers its loving shade to all those that see it. Many times its appeared in stories that I have written on Pan Historia and on Ancient Sites (now Ancient Worlds). In every single garden in my imagination, there has alawys been an immense Mimosa tree.
One morning, it was winter, just after Christmas, the year after I had suffered from my burns, I looked out over the barren yard to the place where my beloved tree would have been. just an inch and a half was the wood circumfrence of a stump. I felt as if someone had murdered a friend. I went out to the yard and I remember feeling heartsick. I know I cried about it. No more would the beautiful sheltering green cover the yard, and no more would I smell the beautiful pink flowers whose perfume was like no other.
Over the years, I still remember that tree, and the gifts it gave to a very young child. Somewhere in Spirit Garden of my heart, that tree lives on, and offers its loving shade to all those that see it. Many times its appeared in stories that I have written on Pan Historia and on Ancient Sites (now Ancient Worlds). In every single garden in my imagination, there has alawys been an immense Mimosa tree.
