The Narrative Image

It all started with a story about how, when faced with the prospect of moving, a little girl reluctantly ventured out into her familiar yard to personally say goodbye to all the trees she had come to know. I wondered how you would say goodbye to a tree…did they have names? She (now peering from the eyeholes of an adult body) looked at me with incomprehension and laughing wonder, “No (of course not), they’re TREES.” She said as if that obviously explained it. Even so, I got the impression that she talked to them and maybe felt the texture of their bark and reminisced of lazy summer days stretched out hammock-like in the junction of larger branches, or recklessly hid from the world of semi-evil adults, high in the leafy canopy. Editor’s Note: Turns out she (the little girl who went to say goodbye to the trees) didn’t and doesn’t talk to trees. I’m guessing now that they merely shared quality time together in silent communion. It may also be possible that her imaginary friend Jennifer,...