tales for dreamers: when the sugar maple weeps

Everyone thinks it’s tapping season and that the bucket affixed to the tree is meant to gather sap. 

But what collects in the bucket is the tears of the tree. 

Some are tears of sadness and grief. 

Tears for the leaves that were born in spring, only to fall in autumn. Tears for the ways in which the world has changed since the last tapping season.

But also tears of laughter, and tears of joy. 

Tears of unbridled happiness at the sight of all the people, young and old alike, who have come to rejoice the return of spring and are eager to learn about the sugar maple and her generous gifts. 

Tears of gratitude for the hardworking folks at the farm who keep the tradition of tapping ongoing.

Tears of joy that after this last thaw, after she has shed her last tear, new buds will bloom on her branches, cardinals and chickadees will make their homes in her boughs, and squirrels will scamper up and down her trunk once again.

There’s something about the resurgence of life after a long period of dead stillness that moves the sugar maple so and makes her cry. But all her tears are laced with the tender sweetness of a rich, ever evolving life.

Last week's image info: The wildflowers in 'the necessity of flowers' were growing at the top of the sledding hill across the Centennial bike path that runs behind Nelson High School. I last saw them last summer. Maybe they'll come back this season too.