Yellow Buds

There's this tree in the front garden.

It sits right in the middle of a patch of grass by the path leading to the wooden gate near the road.

For most of the summer months, it's an inconvenience. When I'm cutting the grass, I like to mow in straight lines. The presence of that tree makes it impossible on that part of the front lawn. I end up trying to steer the mower round its base and it really mucks up my system.

For most of the summer months, I figure my life would be better off if that tree wasn't there.



When I got home today - Good Friday - the start of the long Easter weekend - a time of death and rebirth in the Christian calendar - I stood in the front room and looked out the window.

Under a leaden sky, standing alone in the rain, right in the middle of a patch of grass by the path leading to the wooden gate near the road, was that tree. On its branches, five yellow buds.

Five incredibly beautiful yellow buds.

The first time I'd noticed them this year.

I stood in the front room, I looked out the window and I thought of those closest to me. The occasions when their behaviour, their actions, their opinions, their way of doing things might not, at times, be exactly as I'd like, but how, without them, my life would be so much poorer.



I'll cut the grass on Sunday if the weather's good. I guess it won't matter if that tree's in the way after all.