The October Tree

The first conscious memory I have of making something on my own was in first grade, during a recess break in a thunderstorm. It was October and the trees whipping by the window were quickly being stripped of their deep red and orange leaves, sending them spiralling up and away from me. Because of the rain and lightning we were spending the break indoors and Mrs. Wasko had put out art materials to use if we wanted. A number of children were crying as the thunderclaps seemed to be booming inside that very classroom instead of outside. My sister, Tia, was in Kindergarten and her teacher had let her come up to spend the recess with Big Sis. She did not cry, but she did not let go of my left hand as I drew, either.

I remember taking care to pick the most vibrant red paper, the deepest colour of orange pencil crayons, the brightest yellow markers. That day was the first time I ever looked at the world around me and visually journaled what I saw.

I think I remember that day so vividly because all of the elements of my favorite experiences were present. I love thunderstorms and to this day I cannot stop a grin when I hear the first distant rumbling. I am still in Love with Ontario in October and the simple fact that tree leaves get more beautiful as they grow closer to dying. And I am still touched when Tia lets me know in her own way that it would be okay for me to comfort her, if I can, even if she won’t admit she needs it.

The October Tree is the third in a series of trees for the seasons, mimicking the deep colours of the maple I remember watching as I drew and coloured that day. I haven’t been back to St. Sebastian’s in a long time and I don’ t even know if the tree still stands. I don’t want to know. I want it to forever look like it did to me that day as I shaded leaves holding hands with my little sister inside during a storm.