WHEN YOU SEE THE UNDERSIDES OF LEAVES

When I was young I had a real and close fascination for trees. I grew up on nine acres of property where the man who built the estate had planted many species native to the northeast. There were maples—my favorites—oaks, beautiful pines including several blue spruce which grew regally tall on the south side of the property.

Maples were the most fun and easiest to climb, the branches perfectly spaced, it seemed, allowing a young tree climber to easily reach the highest altitudes. And when the wind blew strongly enough to turn the leaves upside down I’d walk out on the lawn and watch the way the light green would show—the leaves always appeared lighter on the undersides. When the wind became really powerful the leaves stretched out from their stems as if they were hanging on for dear life as if they were little people in a comedy movie about to be blown off of a ledge.

These were the times when it was the most fun to reach the top branches of the trees, to feel the sway of the branches daring them to break, knowing they never would. Somehow, I knew enough of the feel of the tree to feel it was safe to climb up even on the limbs, which were only an inch in diameter. I knew the branches growing vertically would support my weight.

There, high in the maples, was where I learned to trust the strength of the trees and to love them really. I think the most awesome sight, was the view from the top of a maple, feeling how it supported me, looking out at the other trees at the way the wind pushed through the branches and the leaves of the other trees. It made me want to climb them all but it was often satisfying enough just to watch how the leaves hung on as they sailed around in the wind revealing their undersides. I thought they must feel a lot like I did.