RITES
That rite of passage of the middle class –
chauffeuring offspring to the varsity –
took us the breadth of England, from Hoole to Hull.
Extending her childhood, our parenthood
or both, we travelled the edge of hope
and longing, by acres of burning stubble
and slagheaps greening. In the rearview mirror,
she leant forward to gossip about
the future…When she was eight, we’d planted
her cherry tree, knowing she would one day
climb up it and out of sight. We watched it
blossom in her absence.
John Chapman
March 22, 2012How strange that our daughter, too, has her own cherry tree in our garden. For me it is a memory tree often giving pause for reflection. What a prodigious capability our brain has for the storage and retrieval of information. Now retired, I find myself using this function more and more to great comfort.