Time to see what's before us

The Boston Herald
BEVERLY BECKHAM

The tree man said he'll come and fertilize the dogwood, which has been a pink umbrella in my backyard every spring for the past 20 years. Last May the tree bloomed in sparse, uneven patches. I knew it was sick. A smaller dogwood had withered and died a few years before. When we cut it down, it was as dry and splintered as driftwood.

I didn't want to believe that this other tree, one I have watched grow tall and thick, a tree that shades the patio where I sit and turns the world surrounding it into a pink haze for a few weeks each year, could suffer the same fate.

It's just having a bad year, people who aren't tree experts told me. They related tales about trees that didn't bloom one year and were laden with blossoms the next. They said that trees are hardy and seldom de. I chose to believe them because I didn't want to consider my yard without this tree.

We call it "Lauren's tree" - never just "the dogwood," except to strangers - because each May when it's frilly with petals, it reaches right through an open window into her room and for weeks after its sweet scent lingers there, like perfume on a woman walking by.

I look at the tree this day and it takes great faith to believe it will ever bloom again. It's dry to the touch. It snaps like old bones. If this tree were a person I would hurry it off to bed, pile covers on it, make it chicken soup and feed it aspirin every four hours.

But it's a tree, not a person, so I have to depend upon the tree man. He says he'll do what he can; I know there's nothing more I can ask.

There are a few buds on some of the branches. This, I know, is a good sign. The tree might look dead but it is still alive.

All the trees in my back yard look dead right now. The only leaves on any are last year's shriveled ones. Someone stumbling upon this landscape for the first time would never suspect - could never imagine - that in a few weeks these trees will be parasols of white, yellow, purple and green. That the ground now mottled in shades of browns and beige, grass that looks slept on, will stand at attention in uniforms of green.

The wonder of it startles. A black and white world one day is transformed into a technicolor world the next. But you have to think about it, or you don't notice and it just goes by.

I didn't notice Lauren's tree growing scrawnier. I didn't notice until it was scrawny.

I should have. I love sitting in its shadow. I love watching the birds that nest in it. I love watching its petals scatter in a breeze, leaving a thin layer of pink on the ground.

But when was the last time I actually did these things? Late last summer I saw for the first time that this tree was in trouble. How long had it been wasting away? How long had it been since I took the time to look at it?

We think we see. "What a beautiful sunset. What a magnificent yard. The sky is so blue today." And then we go on.

The end of the Easter story, overshadowed by the crucifixion and the Resurrection's promise of eternal life, deals with this inattention to what is right in front of us. After Jesus rose from the dead, he appeared to two men on their way to Emmaus. He walked with them, talked with them, but they didn't see either. They never recognized him.

It was only later, at night, over dinner that they realized who he was.

Maybe the lesson here is a simple one: You have to do more than look to see. You have to pay attention or else you see what you expect. These men believed that Jesus was dead. Therefore, they did not recognize him.

Things happen in front of our eyes. We think we pay attention, but so often we don't.