growth.

There is a tree in my back yard - it's much smaller than the other trees, but it's branches are growing. It's roots are firm and it's leaves shade its small section of the ground just as well as the bigger trees. I've always known about this tree - hell, I planted it. But yesterday afternoon, when I was out "playing pine cone" with my dog, Crystal, it caught my eye once more. As I dutifully flung the slobber covered pine cone for my dog to loyally run and find, my eye drifted from my book to the tree - planted adjacent to the small vegetable garden my sisters and I had tended in our youth (now overgrown with weeds and firewood).

Now you're probably wondering why I'm blogging about some tree. I'll get to that soon.

I remember that tree - carrying it out of my elementary school haphazardly on Arbor Day towards my mom with the rest of the car riders (these were the days before I became a latch-key kid like the rest of my neighbors, or even understood the concept of riding the bus). At either rate, I remember toddling home with said tree and planting it where it now stands. I don't remember much of the actual planting process - when it happened in relation to my mother picking me up from school that day, whether or not I planted it or my mother did, or really anything about it - I could fabricate some sappy story about how we planted it together or BLAH BLAH BLAH, but in truth, I (like most people who are actually coming into adulthood) don't remember much other than playing with caterpillars and coloring from kindergarten. (And even those memories are more like a blurry montage set to some kind of happy classical music)

But what I remember most about that tree is this. I carried it out of the school. My grubby little three foot something hands carried that tree out of the doors of my elementary school. Now, that tree is twice as tall as me.

I have changed so much in my lifetime. From being that cute little shy girl in elementary school, to my awkward anger at the world during middle school, through my rockabilly phase, my eighties phase, high school, college - everything. I don't think words can ever accurate describe the ever changing chameleon nature of the human condition, and I (like everyone else in the world) am a perfect example of this.

But I have spent my entire life here, in this house. While I have dealt with my parents' move as best I can, and I really am okay with it, it's just strange to think that I will probably never come back here for a long stay again. I guess my life is moving on, and I've known that for two years now. But I guess I always thought I'd be able to come back here. Sit my ass in this living room, sleep til noon on my futon, and look at that stupid tree without a second thought.

But that's not really an option for me anymore. Life is taking me on a new adventure, and I am completely different than I was.

I lay on my stomach on the swing that my father built for my mother reading the book that India lent me, dutifully throwing that pine cone back and forth for my goofy little dog and I smiled.

I am not the only one who's changed here.

<3 Back to Columbus tomorrow.