Abigail sat in the swing hung under the leaves of the great maple tree at the centre of her garden. A small breeze lifted strands of silver hair gently across her face. The scent of lavender and roses drifted along and she sighed as the great maples leaves shifted and the swing swayed gently.
She watched as the sun filtered through its many tiers of leaves shining down amongst the countless flowers. She recalled how as newlyweds they had bought this house and how the somewhat crooked and spindly Maple with its knobbly trunk had been the only living thing in the yard.
She recalled how Jake, her husband, had said it would shade the garden too much, drink all the water and sap the nutrients from the soil. She smiled recalling his indulgent look when she had insisted the tree should remain despite all his objections.
She looked around at each of the plants and recalled how the garden had first begun to evolve with the maple always at its centre. Each plant had its very own story, the raspberry cuttings from her mother, the Saskatoon bush from a friend, the lilies from her grandmother’s garden, the cousin who had brought the first few herbs.
She remembered the years that vegetables had outnumbered the flowers and the countless hours spent tending and harvesting them. Some years the fruit and vegetables which had grown here had meant the difference between a full cupboard and one mostly bare.
She remembered how she had rejoiced under its branches when Jake had planted the first rose bush to mark the birth of their first born. Cried when he planted the second and again rejoiced when he planted the third and forth.
As Abigail gently swayed she recalled the countless days and evenings spent with family and friends gathered under its cooling shade. It seemed that nearly every important day over the years had happened here or had been ended sitting in this swing. The good and the bad had been celebrated and grieved.
The swing creaked as its sway slowed and Abigail smiled as she caught a read leaf as it fell to the ground knowing the tree would be here still come the next spring.
