When spring reassures

This afternoon, my eyes lit up when I saw the shabby little blooms on my maple tree.

My maple tree, even if it does not belong to me. Trees cannot be owned by humans, is it not? They belong to God Nature. My maple tree still, because it prompts me to stare out of my window, at it, through it, and often turns a mere runway for my thoughts-flight to take off.

My maple tree, 'coz it nestles my li'l one who went out of me some months ago.

My maple tree, that I prayed hard for not to fall in Sandy winds, but stay strong through that madness. For a selfish reason. For my li'l one.

I had hoped then, that the still green leaves would turn yellow, or may be golden-red or brown, and fall off naturally. Instead, those leaves that bless my li'l one died on the branches, battered in those monster winds that night, and fell off, dry.

Some branches fell on to the green grass. Many simply drooped down from the velocity madness of a single night. People lost homes. People lost lives.

Tears came not even if my heart ached, but I wondered every day after that night, about the plight of my li'l one who was still there.

``Don't worry. That li'l one is everywhere around you, not just on the tree,'' hubby tried convincing. But how could I help those sleepless nights when all I was bothered about was about the genderless baby of a soul out there?

Winter came. Chill arrived. Snow. Rain. Rain. Snow. Intermittent. When there were no leaves, that white blanket did the needful, perching on those branches, at their intersections, and at the roots. Somehow, snow did its bit to reassure me everything was fine with the li'l one.

My maple tree does stand strong...branching out not above its trunk, but at the root. Like a bouquet. The trouble with being strong is, having to stay like that.

``Angels are here dearest. You're okay.'' Am hugging my baby tight. Never mind the snow melting off into a million drops. Once in a while, it's good to feel comfort that oodles of chocolate fail to give. Bless you dearest.

This afternoon though, my eyes lit up and a delightful yelp escaped my lips. My body danced. Buds that had sprung up a few days back and dotted every branch in their burnt-red hues finally gave way to blooms. Golden white. Silky. Happy.

Not a dramatic bloom. Nearly oblivious. But what a happy moment! At no time in life have I waited so listlessly for spring to arrive. Four months in hope of a season. Spring, that brings its blooms. Spring, that will soon bring leaves after these blooms come and go.

Leaves, that will shelter my li'l one more. Leaves that will bless my baby afresh. Tendrils tender in their touch. Leaves that will give my baby shade. Leaves that will not speak a word, but sway in the breeze to say, ``All is well''. Bless.

Leaves.Tree. Dreams. Hope. That afternoon when my li'l one went out of me to settle there, when my body writhed in pain, when tears refused to stay put, ``Don't go,'' I cried to my baby. ``I'll protect you.''

My maple tree became a reluctant surrogate. For eternity. Those pure white passing clouds over the plains that I talked to from the cab window - on my return home from the gynaec - they only led me to my maple tree eventually.

I shudder to think of the day I may have to leave this window, and my maple tree. I cringe in fear when an axe should fall on its trunk that withstood a hundred storms. Wonder what will happen to my li'l one. Pray.

This afternoon though, my heart leapt, elated. 'Tis the time for spring.