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May Jul |
Crushed
Last week, there was water in the rain barrels, but I spent the last of it on the lantana that guard the mailbox in the sun all day. So yesterday I ran the sprinkler, and now I turn it on again.
I move the sprinkler to a new spot so that its two foot circle might soak the roots of some grass and the Monterey Oak and the Blackfoot daisies. Then I turn to go back inside.
There before me, a large, broken branch lies on the ground, having fallen from the Ash tree last night. I missed it on the way out, but there is no missing it now. It lies across the Rosemary with its purplish-white blossoms. It lies on top of the Skullcap with its pinkish-red blossoms. And it has crushed my Texas Persimmon.
A pang shoots thru my heart.
I walk over to the branch and lift it off the Rosemary. I lift it off the Skullcap. I lift rather than pull, hoping that the Persimmon might somehow still be there underneath. But I don't hold on to any hope.
With a grunt of disgust, I heave the Ash branch away. And lo, the Persimmon rises up, but its head has been severed. Only a ripped scar remains where it used to climb two feet further skyward.
I look over my shoulder at the Ash branch with a scowl. A shadow passes over my heart. Inside the belly of that beast, I imagine, is part of the Persimmon that I have nurtured for so long.
The Persimmon is alive, but they grow so very slowly. It will take a long time to heal. It will be a long time before it becomes the handsome tree that Texas Persimmons can be.
I sit on the bench in the cool morning air and hang my head.
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