i have a thing for this fig tree. when i signed the lease for this little apartment (my first, my only), it was not there. there was nothing but a square of cracked dirt that lay outside the living room window. but by the time i moved in, there it was. a good, kind neighbor had planted it with hopes of seeing a garden come to life, inner city smog and grit be darned. since then, it has grown to be quite a handsome specimen, and i like to watch it as the seasons grace its limbs with change.
summer is grand, of course, when the branches are ruffled with the broad, green leaves and the ripe fruit hangs heavy and deep purple. but the time – mere moments, it seems – before spring fully sweeps in… it’s something else. the slender, knobbled branches remain bare as can be, except for the cutest bits of green that miraculously crack their way out of the dry bark. in each baby leaf i can see its full-size future, and it’s thrilling in the simplest of ways.
as i prepare for a few changes of my own, i like knowing that this tree stands stately outside, quiet in its cycle of growth and steady just the same.