Last night in the dark in Forbes Street I discovered a little treasure. Despite the cold, my little magic mulberry tree had opened a first leaf. There were two of them, tiny and fresh, about the size of a five cent coin. I noticed the hint of something catching the dim street light above my head and drew the branch down low enough for me to run my finger tips over the softness of the new born leaf. It is very eager to come to life this special little mulberry.
It shouldn't even be here. I discovered it many, many years ago. It grows in a tiny space between two buildings and a few scraggly thin branches weep over an old wooden fence. On the other side of the fence is such a small dark space, that its only real life is in those few fingers that escape the confines. Over the years the property owners have tried to cut it down, but each time it manages to extend its tendrills over the fence once more and then suddenly produce a surprising mass of leaves. Later in the year it will fruit and I will have a taste of two or three delicious mulberries. I have the feeling as I eat them each year that the fruit is somehow just for me, as if the tree and I are having a clandestine affair in the street. it is that kind of special treat that has grown a life inside me beyond the fruit itself. It is as if when I am passing there, I can hear a whisper... "have you forgotten me that it took so long? I have been waiting, all alone, just for you."
One day, perhaps, I will see someone else enjoying a mulberry there in the street and I will wonder what sort of relationship they are having. Meanwhile, however, I prefer to believe that the mulberries were always just for me.
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