Plucking fruit from trees

When I lived in Mobile, I lived in the historic Midtown area and I had this beautiful Live Oak in my backyard. I remember when I first pulled up to that house that I was absolutely captivated by that tree. I think I stood and stared at it for ten minutes before walking up to my front porch. It was just the most beautiful living thing I had ever seen. I cannot fully explain what I felt, but I was immediately in love with this huge, strong, and beautiful tree in my yard. I still am to this day. For me, it embodied characteristics of a strong and wise woman, who had seen centuries pass in this lively area, and as a result, she had absorbed the laughter and revelry as part of the thickness of her bark. She had these enormous branches, the size of large trees themselves, and those branches reached out over my house, over the brilliant fuchsia azaleas, and straight up into the bluest skies. They provided a tremendous amount of shade and beauty everywhere I looked. It wasn't overbearing; it was a welcome addition. The most amazing thing was that, even though the shade was everywhere, I could still feel the warmth of the sun beaming through her branches and leaves. There was not darkness; she never kept me from seeing the sky, other parts of my yard or my house, the rest of my neighborhood, or the animals that lived within her foliage. My view was never obstructed; she was just a part of it. Once I got to know my neighbors, I learned a little more about her. One of the many stories I was told was that she was rumored to have been at least 300 years old and one of the oldest trees in the city. In the decade prior, she had been covered with Spanish moss, but Hurricane Georges had blown through Mobile and taken all of the moss in Midtown with it. Now, she was bare. I listened to their stories and looked out of their windows from across the street, where I could see her. I wondered what she would have looked like then, but the truth is it didn’t matter to me anyway. I felt pride and fell more in love every time someone mentioned her in conversation. My happiness came from that tree being alive and doing what it was created to do. It was simple. I always took people to the backyard first to show her off before I took them into my home. She was the most beautiful; the rest of the house was just an accessory for her. From the beginning, I found comfort being near the trunk and in her branches. I would sit under the canopy of leaves and smoke my cigarettes and drink my drinks with friends, laughing loudly and wondering if she could hear us. The smoke would curl into her and hang above us. I hated that I poisoned the air on those nights, but I knew she would clean up after me and make it all new again. I don't know why, but she made me feel safe. I knew I could steady myself with her strength and hide in her when I needed to. On warm evenings, I would sit with my naked back on the trunk of the tree and watch the sun set. I would lean into the bend of the trunk and feel the warmth of the wood until it was dark and time for the roaches to take their turn with her. When I was utterly alone, I would sit beneath her and cry until I had cried all of my tears. Then I would lie on my back, exhausted, and look up at the sky through her branches with my head resting on her roots. Everything made more sense in that position. It was then that I would notice the collectors and flyers and buzzing things ‘be alive’ in those thick woody arms, and I would imagine I was invited to be a part of it as her guest . When I was near her, I knew no end to my comfort and peace. It was as if I knew I was supposed to be there and she did too. When I moved from that house, I cried as much for losing her as for leaving my life for something new. She was about the only beautiful thing I remember from my time spent living in Mobile, and I remember her often. That was happiness. It wasn’t happiness born out of having something, or needing or wanting something, and finally receiving it…it was just happiness found in her shade, and in my living within her world.