The Palm in Carnival
The Palm in Carnival The palm tree outside my window is a tall reminder of nature on a street paved with tourists. A motorcycle rumbles and then roars down the road, cars grumbling behind it. The white noise of people chattering provides a background for the sharp slap of a dog's bark. But the tree is silent, or maybe her sound is muted by the bright pink carnival goers below. She is patient, crossing her lower limbs demurely in front of her as she faces me. She is rather slumped from the weight of her many fans drooping or dangling in the slight breeze. Out of her crown, proud palms protect her and bask in the sunlight. In the chunkiest part of the tree strings of peas make a decorative addition to her headress. One side is green as one would expect, but the other streams gold... As the window clicks shut, I exhale in relief. How can the palm stand it out there with all the confusion and commotion? The tree is striped–layers of growth or time spiralling up from the base. Yes, th...