there once was a plant

There once was a tiny plant, in a tiny cup, on a window sill, beside a chair, where the man who cared for it sat to read and write. A mere inch of green, a blade-of-grass sized shoot. Each morning the man gave it a dropper of water, and turned the cup slightly so as to evenly nourish it with the morning sun. Thus it grew taller, and thicker, and very straight. In time, the singular shaft of green began to sprout offshoots-tiny hair thick branches that gave new complexity, a broader identity to the little plant. The man proudly observed his care being translated into growth, and thickness, and strength. Now a bit more water was required each day, and still he carefully exposed each side of the little plant to the morning sun so it stayed straight and grew ever taller and rounder and more complex. Soon the sill could no longer accommodate the plant, so the man brought it a tall, round table and moved it from the sill, but still near his chair, and the morning sun. Six inches, eight inches, ten inches, the little plant reached higher and higher. One morning the man watered, and turned, and looked with concern at a tinge of yellow on the tips of some branches. The next day it was more evident, and more extensive. Too much sun? Too little water? The man worried. He moved the table back from the window a bit. He touched the soil-it seemed properly moist. Then he saw a few of the tiny limbs that always seemed to reach upward, were downturned at their tips. Each day the plant seemed to pass ever so slightly more from confident and ambitious, to saddened and tired. One day the man kneeled by the table, touching the soil, his brow furrowed with concern and spoke, "My dear little plant, what is the matter?" And the plant spoke back. "Kind sir, I'm thankful for the water you bring me each day, and your thoughtfully turning my cup. But I, sir, am a Spruce. I need the depth of the outdoor earth. I need the water of rain, and the drought in between. I need the dormancy of winter, and the awakening of spring. Kind sir, free me from my cup. Plant me outside this window, so I may again reach upward." And so the man did. He found a spot in the center of his yard. He dug a large enough hole, and mixed peat and soil. He wetted the area. He weeded it, and picked out the stones. He gently lifted the plant and it's tiny roots out of the cup, placed in in the soft loam, and patted firmly around the base. He stood back to appraise, and was satisfied with the preparation, but uneasy about turning his precious sprout over to the elements. So now each morning the man came to visit, sometimes brought water, sometimes brought a chair to sit near and read and write. Summer turned to fall, then winter. The man visited less often, but came to brush aside the deeper snows to protect the tree. One year turned to two, then five, then ten. The tree now was taller than the man. The limbs reached toward the sky like outstretched arms with palms up in praise. The man, now, had a tinge of gray at the tips, and stood a little less straight. He sometimes used a cane to help himself get to the tree, but on sunny days he'd sit and read or write all morning. He usually brought water in a sprinkling can, and poured it at the tree's base. He knew it was of no consequence, but it was just what he did. He filled a basket with cones and sat them on the table where the cup once sat. In time, people started to help the man get to his chair under the tree. They held his arm, put a blanket over his lap, and laid his book there for him. The tree offered him shade, and the sweet smell of sap. One October morning, in the tree's thirty-first year, the man sat beside the tree with a book in his hands. The book fell to the ground, the man's head bowed, then he slowly tumbled out of his chair onto the ground. He came to sit no more. Then, some weeks later, people came to the tree with a painted jar that held the man's remains and sprinkled them beneath the lowest branches. Rain came, and sent the ashes into the soil to be taken up by the tree's roots. And the tree reached toward heaven, majestic, and towering, and mighty-the man and the tree.

jls