There is a tree right outside my bedroom window, and it’s a friend of mine. When we moved into this tiny apartment with insanely loud neighbors, and broken bottles, discarded food and sometimes blood stains littering the stairwell, the tree was (and still is) a comfort. A talisman that we can look to and feel almost cozy just looking it.
We marvel at its green leaves in the first shock of spring, proudly declaring to each other that we have a great tree; when Fall rolls around we’re oohing and ahhing as those leaves begin to turn. In the Winter time, with all of it’s nooks and crannies, and elbows–it turns into a perfect tree for catching snow.
Apparently it’s quite tall, looming over the top of our apartment building, but my experience of the tree is the small section not even halfway up: branches at odd angles, going every which way. I can see its silhouette right now through our shades.
When my boyfriend is away, I feel safer somehow knowing the tree is there. Can’t really say why, except that it is a friend, and I feel shielded under its branches.