For the past several years I’ve watched the limbs on two of our hackberry trees reach for one another. Each growing season they add a few more inches to their outstretched arms, like lovers struggling desperately to feel the embrace of the other. At the end of last year, when falling leaves revealed the denuded bony fingers separated by bare inches, I was sure that this year they would make it, this year I would witness the day when their union was consummated.
I see three possibilities for the first to touch. A good wind might hasten the moment. A heavy rain might droop them together. But I prefer a bright, hot sun following a growing rain. I want to see this happen fair and square. I believe the limbs want it that way too. No kiss and run for them. They have worked for this and they have earned it. One day this summer, or next, I will look up and see the hungry limbs of these two trees touching leaves. Like kissing on the first date, I know they will feel good all the way down to their tap roots. I want to be there to celebrate with them.