When she woke the room was already filled with sunlight.
She jumped out of bed and went downstairs to see if the man and his wife were up yet.
The house was calm. She passed the kitchen where the wife was in the habit of soaking the dirty dishes in the sink – drowned dishes in a soup of detergent and partially dissolved food.
She peeked into their bedroom. And there they lay snoring away reminding her of 2 beached whales. The blinds were down preventing the morning sun from disturbing their unconscious state. On the living room table was yesterday’s empty wine bottles and overflowing ashtrays. The air was still dense with stale cigarette smoke and the pungent smell of cooking.

She stepped out on the grass in the crisp morning air looking for a pleasant spot to sit and drink the tea she’d made. The sun felt warm on her body and the birds had already been up since dawn noisily busy with their bird lives.

Right under her bedroom window was a big old Walnut tree. It had a primitive swing attached to a large branch – just pieces of rope and an old wooden board – all grey from hanging there in all seasons and in all kinds of weather. She sat there gently swinging.

After a while she realized that she was humming – it was like a mantra – just 4-5 notes that combined made a harmony. When she became aware of it – it sounded stronger. Then she realized that it came from the tree. The tree had given her its song. She thanked the tree without words – deeply moved – and she sang it. She then became one with the tree.

Fascinated and touched she felt her long, deep roots going all the way down to other centuries. She felt that her trunk and branches were strong and flexible, and that new little leaves were bursting their way into her green hair. They grew very slowly, so slowly that no man could see it. But she felt it like a slight tingling in her scalp. She heard the wind singing through the Poplars and the Beeches – they were greeting her – she had come home.

The man got up and lit his first cigarette.
The wife went to the mailbox for the morning paper. The empty teacup was lying under the Walnut Tree. On her way in she glanced in the direction of the tree, and when she came inside she stopped – she could have sworn – - – No – it must have been her imagination.
MCN :: CXL2W-51LYH-U6B93