HOPE TO TELL

From speaking of the almost-hopeless of yesterday, to a brighter Monday. And if THIS isn’t HOPE, I don’t know what is.

That tiny acorn made its way from WAYYY down the blocks, probably via a storing-up squirrel, and probably this time last year. He most likely carried that little treasure in his cheek-pouches up trees and across rooftops, skittering along one strung-line or another, to find a spot to bury his Winter morsel. And he chose that little spot in the very front of the one-hosta bed, that tiny place which bore the one and only real flower the past owners seem to have planted.

There were a few little clumps of tulips, bright red and even cheerier yellow, which came up every year for the first twelve or so in random spots around the yard, and there is the yew hedging and one big evergreen shrub, now big as a Volkswagen, and home to our perennial spider, Mistress Octavia, Ogress of the Weatherbush.

The grapevine which swathes and swags the garage and outlying wires came from that one tiny spot as well, engulfing the big trellis and heading for Glory. It "came up volunteer" years ago in that less than three by three plot surrounded completely by concrete. In all that vast world between drop and root, there was a whole wilderness of places passed by, with the chance of his coming to rest right HERE---cosmic in its probabilities.

It's like that hunk of smooth obsidian Andy Dufresne left for Red beneath the rock wall in the big Maine field; it doesn't BELONG here---here in this place of maples and hedges and walnuts and yew, where oaks haven't sprouted til now.

Little Oak peeked out this Spring amongst the torrential rains, then got a little drink from the hose during the two-months-without, and put out five little green leaves. An uneventful summer as he basked and spread those tender little leaves, and except for all those passing feet and trike wheels for company, things were pretty ordinary. Then, as Fall approached, Little Oak blushed a bit, turned a lovely shade of rose, and now is about to shed his fading leaves, in preparation for the long Winter snuggle.

All those Maybes and Perhapses and chances and coincidences which brought that little acorn so far from his tree, into the dirt of our back yard, and into Fall glory for the first time---each is a miracle, almost as much as the great eternal Mystery of Seed.