A tree

There is a tree in my neighborhood that must be one of the prettiest in the city.

Is it the particular spread and lie of its branches?

Is it the shape and size of its leaves?

Is it the just-so yellow color that it turns?

It spreads beautifully with long, graceful branches making it as wide as a house, and the proportions of its width and height are just right. It turns the most beautiful shade of yellow, and is one of the first trees in our neighborhood to fully blossom with fall color, making it stand out even more.

My neighborhood has something else that distinguishes it - a special high school that focuses on reaching kids who are about to permanently fall through the cracks - kids from the worst homes, kids with criminal records, kids to whom no one has payed enough attention. The 125 year old brick building has seen an awful lot of the world pass by its doors, and now it is a confluence of old and new ideas, methodologies, philosophies. It is a place where these special and often downtrodden kids can come and learn in a way they might not have expected, and be respected by adults in a way they may have never before experienced.

The most beautiful tree and this wonderful high school are on the same block. Why should I be surprised that these two things exist together? That tree, a living proof of adaptability, changing season by season, yet somehow the same year after year, is such an example of life itself. It is death and renewal, it is jaw-dropping beauty in the middle of the city, it is learning how to thrive where you're planted.

And the kids have that chance, too. Day after day the block is filled with kids lounging, talking, waiting for rides, buses, girlfriends. Day after day they walk past that tree. Do they see how beautiful it is? Do they believe they can grow and mature and change and adapt and learn to thrive? Do they see the beauty right in front of them, and inside themselves?

I hope so.