Haley’s Maple

The tree was a young tree, just like me. Looking at our house from the street, it was in the side yard, to the left of the house. It seemed so tall, but it must have been only 8 feet at most. Skinny trunk, swaying leaves or still, depending on the season—I had a tree. It was the first thing I remember feeling that I owned. And I was proud of it. My dad gave it to me. The leaves were green green in the spring and summer, and the color turned, hued and varied and brown jewel tones in autumn. I remember sitting under it, playing around and around its trunk, taking its precious fallen leaves and making impromptu collages on the concrete outside our front door. That tree witnessed my childhood.