The new sub-division was the result of the towns reclamation of a seedy rundown area in the near-center of the town. All the old clapboard, and stucco-sided house had been demolished, along with all the plants, trees, and brush. There was one exception; a huge, old, Oak tree, that sat alone. The housing plats were set out as if to give this tree it's own space. It was on no one's property, yet everyone had access to it.
Scott, and Cindy, my two preteen children were drawn to that tree as though they were magnets. I could sit at our dining room table and watch the children at play around that tree. They had even given it a name, The Lullaby Tree. Where in the world they came up with that I can only guess. When asked, they said the tree whispered it's name to them. At the time, I didn't believe that.
Then, after we'd been in our new home a couple of months, the children insisted I come visit the tree. I tried to beg off. A tree is a tree, I told them. Besides, I had to get supper started before their dad got home. But then, Scott took one hand and Cindy the other and pulled me from my chair. "Ok, ok. I'll visit your Lullaby Tree."
Up close, the tree was even bigger than from a distance. Long rugged limbs, as big around as my waist, jutted out, with remnants of long-ago ropes that had, at one time, held tire swings. There were notches, and branch stubs that formed a natural ladder into the arms of the tree. I could see why the children loved it.
A warm breeze wafted through the leaves of the tree. It almost sounded like a song from my childhood.
don't you cry
go to sleep my little baby.