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It was one of those brisk wintery days. I had traveled to Sydney with my 13 year old daughter Kathlyn to visit her favorite area, The Rocks.

The Rocks is called that because it was literally carved out of the sandstone rock of Sydney Harbour, It´s a place rich in history and visual pleasure. We loved to wander around the steep winding streets and visit the old fashioned shop at Sussanah Place, where you could buy hard rock candy and turn of the century wooden toys.

As we walked in companionable silence, I felt more peaceful than I had in weeks. This had been a turbulent time for the whole family, with break ups and make ups, and big moves, and a lot of uncertainty and instability. It seemed sometimes as if this long hard winter would never end.

I was feeling drained when we set out, but a day with my young daughter is always soothing. We visited all her favorite places, then we bought some takeaway lunch and sat in the park opposite the Garrison Church.

As we rested near a park, I became keenly aware of everything about me. The day seemed very bright for winter, and I noticed a tree standing nearby.

Deciduous trees are not unusual in Australia, even though most of the native trees do not shed their leaves in autumn. The settlers planted chestnuts and other leaf shedding trees everywhere to make themselves feel at home.

This tree was not as spectacular as a chestnut tree, with those red gold leaves, or a jacaranda, that sheds its brilliant blue flowers in the most spectacular fashion, carpeting the ground in a magnificent circle of fallen blossoms. I could not identify tthis tree, but thought it might be a beech, or something similar. It´s leaves were gone, its thin strong branches quite bare.

But I knew it was the spirit of a woman. She was bent, as if with care, and though most of the bark was smooth, there were knots and rough patches testifying to her long years of growing and learning.

Like me, she had weathered many storms. I felt a great kinship with her, stripped of everything, but still strong enough to stand and reach out to a passing stranger.

As I touched a rough patch on her bark, I thought I heard a rustle, as of a memory of leaf filled days. My mind flew back to a summer day when I was 22, and the world seemed like an apple I could bite into and let the juices flow through my fingers.

Caught in the moment, back then, I saw myself in my faded jeans and old work shirt, watching the leaves dance on the trees nearby.

How vivid life seemed in that moment. It was as though I had stepped back and saw life in all its color and brilliance, shimmering before me. I had ached, then, to capture it forever, a photograph in the mind, a place I could return to whenever the days darkened.

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Written by: Gail Kavanagh
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Words: 576