The Monster Tree

The snow came seemingly out of nowhere, falling in swirly heaps, like squirts from a giant's whipped cream can. It fell for about 24 hours straight, and just before the end of the day, as night added its ghostly shadows to the snow's delirious dance, the winds kicked in and made the trees sway dangerously, creating bursts of snow dust being thrown down from their swaying tops. The 35 year old cherry tree in our backyard looked ghostly. Its dangling branches thrashed around like the frantic legs of a mutated huge spider. It was a hypnotic sight, and unnerving as well, as the branches seemed to be reaching, grabbing , like a sightless big monster with too many spindly legs. The sight made me a little uncomfortable. I wondered why that would be so. It took me a while to realize that the thrashing tree limbs reminded me of how years earlier the tree had a manageable shape, that had gotten out of control, and then had gotten too tall to be trimmed without a professional input. Now the tree looked too tall, unbalanced, with branches going sideways, that were too thin on one side and too heavy in other parts. It was uncanny. The thought came to me that this happens to humans, too. They suffer even benign neglect to their being, and it changes them, they start feeling and looking off balance. In more extreme cases, they become like the tree, a rather shapeless monster, sometimes in physical appearance, and sometimes, the wounds are invisible, hidden, except for those who know us very well. Because, we all are to a more, or lesser degree, trees that are trying as hard as they can to keep standing in the assault of life's storms, that have us thrashing about in more or less visible ways. As I was watching the tree brave the wind and the snow, I became concerned some of its more unruly branches might break off. It would not have killed the tree, it just would have made it look stripped of its dignity, stripped of its possibility to look like a beautiful 35 year old cherry tree can with proper care and shaping. I realized that I did not want the tree to lose any of its branches, it had been there ever since we bought our house, had given us so much fruit, shade, and beautiful  blossoms in spring. It was getting older and I wanted it to live for many years more. I realized I had identified with the tree's plight, and determination, and that it was a metaphor for my own struggles, for the fading of my own youth, for the struggle of my own dreams, my own efforts to hang on to my roots, which were transplanted to this country when I was just a teenager. I had seen my share of storms, and somehow had come through with all my branches intact. The tree was me. I looked at its struggle with more peace now, the tree and I had something in common that made me feel a sense of camaraderie with it, a nice feeling since so much of my writing is connected to and inspired by nature, all the way back to my first poems when I was 17. The tree did not look so much like a monster anymore, or if it did, in its brave struggle against the snow and wind, it was only to remind me that I too had a bit of monster in me, not by purpose or design, but by circumstance, because of some of the difficulties I had to overcome, because of the struggle for balance and dignity and belonging in my life. If you live long enough, you will end up with a bit of monster in you, inside, hidden and maybe even outside, visible too, maybe in a wrinkle, or in a gait, maybe in a posture, or line around the mouth or brow. The wind calmed down, the tree's branches relaxed like a stressed out tired dancer's limbs, and I relaxed, too. If the tree and I were both a bit of a monster somehow, we were harmless for the most part. I smiled. "No one gets out of here alive ", a mantra the rockband " The Doors " made famous in the last song of their 1968 album " Waiting For The Sun ". We all end up a bit bent and weird looking, inside and out, like the cherry tree in our backyard, by the time that final storm takes us down.
Trudi Ralston