In My Hand

In my hand, this avocado leaf waits as if waiting for a palm reading.

In my hand, this avocado leaf waits as if waiting for a palm reading. Each morning it waits for me as if I can read the lines it presents like an old gypsy in the garden. Their veins, their lines, are vivid as if growing out of the leaf’s skin, verdant as if they had nothing to do but sprawl in the sun. But in the ruddy edges of the new growth, they reveal much as if the thing they hesitate to ask the most should stay silent. This tree and its leaves are old friends, and if I read these leaves, I will not reveal too much about them.

I do remember this tree’s beginning, an avocado stone suspended in a glass jar. Tenderly cared for by my brother and his wife, they nurtured this foundling until it was pot-worthy. And so it moved from the kitchen window sill to the back porch. Left behind as they moved, I tucked it into the ground by my bedroom door many years ago. The first couple of years, it was a slow grower, but it had found its legs one spring and wiggled itself into the earth, deep below the bounds of roots in the rest of the yard. From there it grew by yards, taller and taller, taller than me, taller than the roof line, and now much taller than the ridge line of the roof. Abundant with leaves, yet it bears no fruit. It is sterile. Such is the way with things that are grown like this.

The tree’s gift is that it gives us shade. While its limbs do not reach across the entire driveway and patio, its shade does. Even in the early morning hours the canopy creates cool spots. In the heat of the day, southern maidens would have swooned for its relief. And I delight in it still, though there’s nothing close to a southern maiden in me.

There is another rambler of a tree about, poking itself up under the lemon tree: a persistent Chinese elm, seeded from the giant across the street. The gardener has tried to cut it out from under my lemon tree several times, but it grows back. Its roots traveled deep. I don’t know if my gardener has given up or if I have, but it is now about five feet tall with roots much deeper than that by now. It’s not advisable, but I’m wondering if I should let it grow, and whether I have a choice in the matter anymore. It’s another foundling nested here, and I don’t know if I have heart enough to remove it, or at least to attempt it again. It would make the spot neater, less congested. And I don’t feel that way at all about the crabgrass that has invaded the ground under the lemon tree time and again, though digging it out again this month would make the whole yard neater. Unlike the crabgrass, I have some small affection for this foundling tree’s tenacity, thinking it may well outlast the patio it brushes up against. The lines in its palm do not glare up at me as do the avocado’s, so I cannot tell what it’s life will be.

What does one do when nature brings such gifts? Not a gift now, but maybe will it be one someday? It’s hard to say, and to make matters worse, today is a lazy day, given to breezes and wondering without searching for remedies. Thoughts of solutions pass like the breeze through leaves. I’ll leave it for tomorrow and another conversation or two with the gentleman who tends my yard. He may add rationale to my reflections.