A Different Tree Grows in Brooklyn

A Different Tree Grows in Brooklyn
by Mark McCray

A simple tree grows on a residential block in Brooklyn. It is not the tallest tree on the block. Neither is it the shortest. It does not stand in perfect parallel to the house in front of which it grows, leaning away at a slightly obtuse angle.

In warm weather, all its leaves are uniformly light green and grow in dendrite-like clusters along its branches. Its entire formation, its trunk and crown, its branching pattern always looks--to me--like the neurostructre and vasculature of the human brain and spinal cord--even more so in cold weather when there are no leaves and I can make out every new twig that has sprouted. What a beautiful silhouette it makes against the cloudy grey skies of winter!

I gaze up at this tree almost every day and I’m constantly in awe of its beauty and simplicity. It continues to grow every day. Every day it changes. Every season it becomes more and more beautiful to me. Not only because it continues to grow, but because of what it weathers as it grows: snow, children, dogs, car doors, noise, the summer sun, and the spring rains. It weathers all these things and still it keeps on growing and changing and becoming.

This tree is also beautiful because it is witness to cries from newborns in their strollers, the stumblings and missteps of intoxicated passersby, the seasonal installation and removal of air conditioners in surrounding windows, the flirtations of firefighters, the occasional altercation between employer and employee, the mating dances and noises of shiny, silky pigeons, the biological processes of canines, first kisses, final goodbyes, moments of realization, block parties, move-ins, move-outs, all kinds of beginnings, middles, and ends. The witnessing of all these things, I am certain, makes this tree feel like a lucky tree. For to omnisciently witness the wonderfully complex behaviour of humans interacting with each other, their world and their creations must be continually both awe-inspiring and humbling.

I gaze up at this tree and marvel again at how its branches grow in all kinds of directions: outward, upward, left, right. All the different paths I can trace from leaf to trunk, from trunk to leaf. So many variations. Start here, end there. Start again, end up somewhere else. Back up, go a different direction. Which direction to choose this time?

I gaze up at this tree. I look up to it. It constantly reminds me of my interconnectedness with the entire world. It’s always a source of inspiration and leaves me with a sense of rightness about the world: things are always as they should be.

I gaze up again and follow its trunk into the ground. It is not stuck, but firmly rooted in the earth. It is where and what it wants to be. And it stands tall and confident with this knowledge.

This tree is a map and a guide, a teacher and a reminder, a lens and a mirror. It is there for me as much as I am here for it. I wonder what it thinks when it watches me study it. I wonder if anyone else notices it the way I notice it. I wonder if anyone takes as much pleasure in his or her exchanges with this tree as I do. Are they as grateful for the existence of this tree as I? Are they as affected, as influenced by this tree?