It was there, tall and benign, the first time a family visited the house that was gearing up for sale. The realtor was busy explaining the property’s positives, hardly taking account of the cool shade the sprawling branches offered.
Standing on the front yard bordering a little busy road, it has witnessed innumerable vehicles each heading a destination of its own. One day one such vehicle stopped by the house, of which it is a natural guard and claimed it as their own.
While the house changed hands nobody in particular mentioned this old guard and it watched in silence ready to witness a new beginning. The new denizens hardly noticed the benign presence until one day gazing through the window a habitant noticed its huge trunk, on which were the imprints of the lost years passed by.
Minutes later, a young inquisitive boy brought a measuring tape to record the circumference of the trunk. That way he could know how old the tree was. The boy needed help and his grandfather and father pitched in, while the ladies of the house watched in awe the unfolding mystery of this old guard.
Calculations were made and it was safely established that the magnificent old oak was over 200 years old. The boy barraged the elders with a series of questions about anything that was as old as the oak tree. Nothing in the human world lasts that long and this realization brought in a new awakening and regard.
Gradually the dwellers were warming up to the silent presence and their affection was visibly growing. One day the young boy came close to the tree and hugged its trunk as far as his tiny hands could hold and wished the tree, ‘Good morning Mr. Oak’ as a mark of respect and adoration to the aged figure.
It must have been a pleasant surprise to the oak, and so it seemed as its huge drying leaves rustled in the autumn wind. Many a times birds have habited the branches of the tree and nested to bear their young ones but this human affection was a newly found one.
Over the years, many seasons changed and the oak was a quiet witness to history, neatly carving an imprint on its beautiful trunk of the times gone by. But this year it may imprint a different ridge on its trunk not because of a likely change in weather but maybe because the pace of human imprint on Nature has temporarily slowed down. This sudden break from the maddening pace may sync humans better to the natural existence and the cosmos beyond. Also perhaps, the warmth of the human hug will find a place embedded in the oak’s growth ring carved on its trunk.
Is there a life lesson to learn for parents in the unfolding tragedy of COVID-19?