avenue

"I'm devastated," she said. "There's nothing left. Everything is destroyed."
All the foliage of the avenue like a mantle about us could not hide the unbridgeable chasm of her grief.
"Here," I said. "Walk with me for a minute. I'll try not to give you the corona virus."
I led her through the garden.
We stood before the forked trunks of what had been a magnificent Mulberry tree.
Now just a little above the height of a man.
Like a giant hand beckoning.
"Look at this," I said. "It was forty feet tall. A most beautiful tree. I cut it down in September. I thought I'd killed it. I left the trunks as a kind of statue. Look, look. My dead dreams, My lost soul. My broken heart. My ruined hopes. Look at this. Look. Look at all the green shoots. Look as the green leavess sprouting where I thought everything was dead. Look at the green buds of new branches. Everywhere. Everywhere the tree is coming alive. New growth. Everywhere my dreams are stirring. Everywhere my lost hopes renew themselves. Everywhere my broken heart is healed. Everywhere my soul is restored again more vital, more glorious than before because this moment owns all moments and this moment is now. That's the way God made trees. It's the way he made souls. It's the way he made you."