A Meme-oir Anthology

From Tiny Acorns...

You're not mine anymore

I loved you, and thought love was enough.

I worked for you, and thought work and love might be the saving duo.

I died inside for you, and thought the price was high,

But you were worth it,

If I would have won you.

But you were lost.

Yet even in the losing, you were still worth the fight.

A part of me remains with you.

All of you remains with me,

And will, as far ahead as I can see

Just now.

To me you were always

... my friend,

... my beloved,

... my dream come true.

And I still remember.

But you're not mine anymore.

Once upon a very long time ago - around four centuries or so - work started on the Taj Mahal; William Shakespeare was writing still, as he had for decades; Dutch explorer Tasman made the first recorded European sighting of New Zealand; the Manchu conqueror China ended the Ming Dynasty; The Great Fire of London destroyed St. Pauls Cathedral and 87 other churches, plus an estimated 70,000 homes; and in the State of South Australia, a gum tree sprouted from the seeds that had been contained within a gumnut.

He would have begun his tender life in the middle of a bird dropping, plummeting from great height to land in an unexpectedly welcoming hollow of ground, moist enough, yet receiving all the sunlight it needed to survive the odds and grow, when many around him perished. Somehow he was destined to outlive the turmoils and triumphs happening all around the world. It's doubtful he knew any of this. Or did he?

In my precious time of owning him and loving him, I had my doubts. When I leant back against him, or spread my arms across only a small part of his girth, there inevitably came a special feeling of comfort. To say I felt grounded sounds all too obvious, and yet when a problem was shared (in whispers or more often directly from my mind to his core) and tears were shed, the strongest sense of warmth and quiet would slowly engulf my heart and soul. A tree cannot understand the foibles of humankind. Or can it?

I always felt he talked to me - through his massive trunk and great sheltering branches, and the soft rustling of his hundred of thousands of leaves. And countless generations of birds and all manner of creepy crawlies have found refuge within his welcoming depths in his lifetime. And stock and many a wild animal too, would have found shelter beneath his great outstretched 'arms' - whether from the darkest, stormiest nights - or seeking shade from the blistering heat of the midday sun in summer. He's always there for any who need him. What a wonderful example of tolerance of all things, and loving and nurturing tired and wounded spirits.

In the years we shared with him, we were often advised and occasionally tempted to set the wheels in motion to have him heritage listed. Somehow, we could never do this. Somehow we could never get over the fear of the potential for unwanted consequences IF he became famous. We have seen other gentle giants like him that have had to be fenced off for a significant distance around to protect the tree from the over-adulation of Man, that could all too easily result in disaster. Were we selfish to keep him all to ourselves, our family and friends? Probably... but he's still there, and strong and intact. I think our choice was the right one.

One of the most poignant messages my old friend shared is to accept that we all have a need to lean now and then, and rest when weary - no matter how old and wise you may think you are. Look at his picture again. See how he grew one huge branch down to ground, just like an elbow to lean on when it all gets too hard; when he's feeling it's almost impossible to 'keep on, keeping on'? His size shows that it's been working a treat for him... for centuries.

Just looked carefully at the photo again... I'm positive I see another great branch heading downwards to assist his restful mode. Ahhh...