Bark

Closeup of the tree trunk outside my former office
Rough skin

I’m taking pictures of things surrounding me that I’m leaving and moving toward. This is one of the former, a tree only a few steps away from the corner mailbox. I pass it frequently, but I don’t often think about it. Who does? Trees are everywhere.

Do you remember that book? The Giving Tree, by Shel Silverstein. That was one of my favorite books growing up, and every time I reread it, I cry. That’s the tree I think about, actually. I had a Giving Tree growing up, before it was removed for some utility work  when I was 8 or 9. I climbed, I rested, it gave me shade. No apples, though. Not that kind of tree.

2 Replies to “Bark”

  1. I love trees. My favorite tree died and was cut down years ago. And then my second favorite, a weeping willow that was probably well over a century old, was also cut down. I’m easily more upset about that than about most human deaths. (Most, not all.) Probably not normal. But yeah, I know the book. Makes me cry, too. The human in the book is a selfish prick. A villain who isn’t directly portrayed as one, and who has no idea how evil he is. I think the lesson was that “kill em with kindness” does NOT work, since the tree was nothing but kind and ended up dead. Gave all the life it had for the ungrateful bastard who barely even appreciated it.

    Is it possible that the book makes us cry because we relate to the tree?

    I don’t think I’m ready to know the answer.

    1. Or perhaps we cry because we appreciate what the tree has selflessly given up for another. I don’t have the answer for that one at all.

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