Upside Down Tree

In a small circular raised flower bed in the middle of the path from Smith Science Center to the Northeastern Seminary building stands a unique tree surrounded by brightly colored tulips and crisp white daffodils.

All the branches of this delightful little tree grow downwards towards the warm earth, their lacy branches stretching towards the flowers in a caring, embracing way. The tippy top of the near barren tree is a skinny branch that is the only branch starting to grow upwards, and then at the last minute, it changes its mind and droops down with its sister branches, completing the illusion that the tree is planted in the ground completely upside down.

Even the leaves are unique, a brilliant waxy maroon to the spring green of the rest of the trees in the area. At first glance, the leaves look like last year's dead stuff not yet sloughed off, but they are in fact new growth stretching their shiny faces towards the sun to absorb their version of chlorophyll.

Every time I walk past this tree, I am struck by its singular beauty. In comparison with 'normal' trees, it would flunk in every category. Yet taken as its own self, it quietly wraps you in the grace and timeless perfection of its own nature. I remarked about it one day to a colleague, and she summarily dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "Oh, yes, there are several trees like that on campus. No big deal."

But I have yet to discover the kindred trees on campus. I shook my head that she did not seem aware of its elegance and beauty. In fact, students and faculty alike stride past it every single day, and few ever seem to really look at this paragon of gracefulness. But then, do we see our surroundings - really see them?

I shall be interested in locating the other upside down trees. How wonderful to note that sometimes when you don't follow the recipe, you end up with a wonderful thing of merit all by itself. Classy.