Ireland

born 1960

marymackey60@gmail.com

Some years ago, quite a few but not too many, I bought a tree, for my garden. To say I bought a tree isn't quite accurate, it was so small, diminutive. More a concept of a tree. In time, lots of time, beyond my time, it would have grown large, densely textured trunk, yellow pale flowers, cups-full of honeyed scent. And leaves. Shiny dark green on the surface, tough, with suede like furring underneath, hanging pendulous, saucers to the flowers. It survived, not quite thrived, its first few years, then we in our temperate zone were blanketed with snow, that froze, and stayed for weeks.

My tree slipped my mind, slipped away.

A scattering of leaves marked its passing..

These, I gathered when I found them, and remade into my "Leaves for Iceland"

And the tree that was no more lived again.

A different life.