It was Harry Sparks who first told me the love between a father and mother was like a misshaped tree, and therefore different and better than all other love. Boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife, and lover and lover? They didn’t know what love was, Harry said. Not really, anyway. Because their trees were tall and straight and perfect.
I didn’t understand a word of what he told me, of course. I was eighteen at the time and in the throes of the sort of love that poets and philosophers had always tried to define but never quite managed. I didn’t know what sort of tree my girlfriend and I had. I didn’t think it mattered. I walked away from Harry thinking he’d either had one too many drinks or one too many kids. I wasn’t sure which was worse, but I was sure I wasn’t going to find out…
To read the rest of this post, please follow this link to highcallingblogs.com. And let me know what sort of tree your love resembles…
