16th Small Stone: Entwined Elms

Tiny scrolling branches of two elms entwined and tangled over the street, reaching, touching, as close as they can ever get.

Greened Up and Leafed Out

Now that it’s almost May, all of the slow coaches among the trees on my route have finally leafed out. Jacarandas and elms in the shade, plus a few oaks, were the tardiest. But they don’t see it that way; their time is just right to make leaves now. It wasn’t their time earlier. One tree is probably dead, it stands stark without even a swelled bud on its branch tips. My cherry has vibrant red leaves and the berries hide in them and splat on the sidewalk, where the bluebirds and crows pick at the remains. The hummingbirds love the sycamore in front, but some mornings they click so loud and long we can tell something is wrong. It’s a hawk, sitting on the other sycamore or on the ancient TV antenna, looking hungrily around for a tasty bite. When the hawk launches into the air and cruises away on patrol, the hummingbirds click far less, settle into a low volume, sound content.

Trees Aren't Synchronized

I am ready now for all the trees to be green. Along Indian Hill Boulevard, first the grey-trunked sycamores leafed out, leaving the white-trunked ones bare. Then, a couple of weeks later, the white-trunked ones followed suit. The big elms farther down the boulevard came out in reddish buds and got all sexy, dripping flower parts all over the sidewalks and streets. Another street I drive along on the way to work has a few trees that still have no leaves at all. Several have gone through their redbuds or white drifts of flowers and leafed out. But still the two or three bare trees remain without leaves. I wonder each morning, will I see green or will I keep hoping in vain? Are they dead or just very sleepy?

Tree Skeletons

I love to look at deciduous trees in winter and try to follow each large branch out to the tips. Some recurve towards the trunk, others reach out sideways for a long time and then flip up or droop. The color and texture of the bark as well as the pattern with which the branches pop out from the trunk vary with the type of tree. My village is probably one of the last places in the US with a lot of elm trees, especially along the road next to the big park in the middle of town. The grace of the branches of those elms is moving to me, and I often choose that street to drive down. I think that if it weren’t for elm blight, every main street in the Eastern part of the US would have this same beautiful pattern lacing the sky. My daughter hates the leaf-drop, and would love it if our village only planted non-deciduous trees. But to me, the lovely bones of the trees, especially silhouetted against sky, are a welcome sight.