New shoots

Words 570

Although the sky is so blue and appears to be that of a lovely summer’s day, it’s actually early winter. I walk through the cemetery, as I do each Sunday afternoon, and look up at the bare branches of the big old oak tree near the graves. The last leaf on the tree hangs on there valiantly, as if it is loath to let go and allow winter to truly begin.

“Hi Mary.”

I turn from Ben’s grave, where I’m removing last week’s withered blooms. It’s Tom, raking the last of the Autumn leaves. I raise my hand and give a little wave to the gardener. “Hi Tom,” I answer, “I’m sure you must be sick of Autumn.” I smile and point up to that one intrepid leaf. “Only one left.” I laugh.

“Yes, you’re right there, Mary.” He shivers when a cold north wind ruffles his hair and beard. “I love the change of seasons, though. Soon the new green leaves of spring will cover the old girl.” He looks fondly at the massive oak.

We walk companionably back towards the exit, admiring how the sky is changing colour as the sun lowers in the late afternoon sky.

“It’s going to be such a vibrant sunset tonight, Mary.” Tom points out the cloud formation. “The smoke in the air from the garden fires makes the sunset special. People are burning off all their leaves.” He takes a deep breath. “I love the smell of this time of year. Don’t you?”

We stand close together looking at the sky, smelling the smokey air, and then he says, “You warm enough, Mary? Would you like my jacket?”

I turn to him and not for the first time in all of the many months of coming here to tend to my husband’s grave, I notice the kindness in his eyes, the strength in his arms.

“I am feeling a little chilly, Tom. Do you want to join me in the café for a warm drink?”

Tom’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. He nods. “I thought you’d never ask.” He laughs and takes my arm.



The little bell on the café door tinkles as we enter. “Sit down, Mary. I’ll get you something to warm you up.” Tom goes to the counter and calls, “Shop! Anyone here?”

“Hi Tom,” the café owner, Janet, appears from the kitchen. She’s wiping her hands on a blue tea towel, “What can I get you?”

“Just a hot chocolate and a warm fire for this young lady?” he nods over to where I am standing, holding my hands out to the flaming logs.

Janet picks up the edge of her apron and wipes her glasses. “Hi, Mary,” she calls. “I didn’t know you knew our Tom.”

“We’re old friends aren’t we Tom,” I wish Janet would mind her own business.

Tom goes along with my lead. “For years.” He smiles at me.



Even though we are new friends, it’s as if we have indeed known each other for a very long time as we chat for an hour about our lives.

We walk outside to a now darkening sky. We give one last look at the big oak tree and stand silently as that one last leaf releases its hold and floats slowly down.

“Perhaps when her fresh new leaves begin to show in spring, something else may spring anew.” Tom smiles at me.