For Beauty's Sake

a devotional for spring

Photo by Daniel Seßler on Unsplash

one day, the branches are bare
the next, alive

as if every saint in heaven
decided to fall upon the crown, 
each petal a face
in millions, in millions

kissed by the acolyte bees
witness to the bowing-low of the robins
and weeping tears of dewdrop ecstasy:
because the heavenly mansion 
could very well be a tree

strangely sacred
softly scented
and somehow familiar—

and the souls in spring
in their millions, their millions
feel right at home.  

One of the challenging aspects of stewarding a property we didn’t design ourselves is deciding what to keep and what to cull to suit our purposes. Since we moved in, we’ve had to make some tough decisions about certain trees, in particular, and some literal cuts have been made: an Eastern white pine that never quite recovered after being broken in a snowstorm, a dogwood that grew beyond expectation and shaded out our garden, a handful of Douglas firs and alders that were sick or dying and now serve us as firewood.

But the one tree that we always seem to side-eye—and yet always escapes the axe—is a stately ornamental cherry tree, growing in our lawn.

The issues are many. The tree is in a weird spot for its grand size. While it provides some morning shade in the summer, its reaching boughs regularly stretch over the roof of our house and the top of our greenhouse, and the latter gives me terrified heartburn in high wind. Because of its weight it grows leaning, and it’s close enough to our sunroom to make us a little nervous that its root system could potentially damage the foundation under there. For years we’ve considered and reconsidered, and over the last few months we’ve been looking at the tree carefully, wondering if it might be best to take it down, getting closer and closer to making the fateful chop.

But...

Then, a week or so ago, the little buds on the boughs exploded into a riot of pink puffball blooms and the leaves unfurled as they always do, a wine-hued red, and suddenly we remembered why we love the old, gnarled thing so much. It’s beautiful. It’s truly, mesmerizingly beautiful. The dew-studded flowers last for a few precious days, and then the April breezes blow them around in swirls and clouds like snowflakes, carpeting the whole area around the tree in soft rosy drifts. It is a mainstay of the season, now.

We look at each other, standing under the tree’s magnificent canopy, and sigh.

I just don’t have the heart to let it go…

I’m the first to admit that I prefer my plants to be both beautiful and practical. I love a meadow of medicinal wildflowers, the modest blooms of native herbs, an edible garden, soft blossoms that turn into fruit with the help of the pilgrim bees. An ornamental cherry tree doesn’t produce any fruit at all.

But as I write this, the wind blows a tempest of petals past my office window, and I can’t help but sigh with delight. Perhaps some beauty is worthwhile for its own sake. Perhaps we can find a way for the tree to remain; a hefty pruning, for example, instead of a complete chop. Give it another year, enjoy it for just a little bit longer. I cannot help but make excuses. I cannot bear to see it go.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said it best: “The earth laughs in flowers.” I think, perhaps, the Creator of the earth does, too.

The dogs romp in the petal-drifts and for a little while, spring is a tangible thing, something you can touch and smell, something that colors the very air. Yes, indeed, our hearts are softened. Despite its size and ungainly presence, perhaps the tree can stay.

At least…for one more year.

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