I think everyone gets bad moods. The blues (or the reds) or whatever you want to call them. Sometimes I slide down an emotional slope, and sometimes it’s really hard to get back out. Honestly, I’ve a long history of unhealthy behaviour when it comes to dealing with my funks. But sometimes I surprise myself.
Exercise helps, right? Ask anyone. ‘Endorphins’ is the buzzword. I like to walk, especially along scenic routes. The Hip Strip in Mobay has its faults but it’s still got an amazing, totally quintessential, tropical view of the sea. Staring off into the horizon usually does a lot for my peace of mind, more so when it’s lit up with sunset reds.
There is a park on Bottom Road at the site of the Old Hospital. I almost always walk through this park, most times without even thinking about it. Walk through, I heard myself say, in response to Kat’s question. So we did. Find a bench.
Now if you know anything about the Old Hospital Park, it is that it’s littered with lovers on a bad day. On a good day, a non-rainy day, there are no corners free from necking, cuddling and schmoozing. I saw a bench occupied by a lovey-dovey couple.
Not that one. That one.
An empty bench. I sat and Kat (probably by this time out of his depth with my moods) followed suit. Deep breaths. Lie down. Look up.
And because my brain just can’t leave good enough alone, I overthought. And what I came up with was this.
That tree has all these concentric rings, going up. Growth rings, like the ones on the insides of other trees. And the ones at the top were the brightest, but also the narrowest. Brand new. The ones at the bottom, closest to the roots were faded and stretched with age. I though the tree was trying to tell me something and what I thought it was saying was this.
Your actions don’t fade. What you do lives on stronger than you ever will. The marks you make at the beginning, at the start will fade, but the foundation they create won’t. Your circles disappear into the trunk of the tree of time, grounding all those branches and leaves. The tree was telling me, your scars will forge a path for new growth. Your scars will be the birthplace of beauty.
I’m overthinking it, right? Not yet.
And I was just so moved by the way it flaunted its orange. I mean, it’s a tree, it probably doesn’t have a choice. But trees lose branches all the time. They just drop off when they’re no use. So maybe this orange branch, this sore thumb, was doing something good up there. And the rest of the tree kept it around. Embraced it. Embrace your orange, that tree was telling me.
Is it significant that I hate the colour orange? Telling me to embrace it is like telling me to love all the ugly parts of me. All the parts I hate. Love them anyway.
Am I overthinking things?
Trees aren’t really known for being this chatty.