Resurrection Fern grows and piggybacks on the limbs of some Live Oak trees.

The fact that our Live Oak is host to it was pointed out to us as a good omen by our real estate agent when we were looking at our house.

It looks dead or dormant under less than ideal circumstances. Retreats inward, collapses into itself, curls up, becomes still and silent, a shell of itself.

But it is alive and hopeful and waiting.

Waiting for the rain.

So it was fitting that today of all days the rain came. Not a lot but enough.

Enough to give hope to the tightly curled fronds. Enough to convince them to unfurl just a bit, let down their guard and trust the world. Enough to entice them out to take a peek. Enough for them to sprawl vulnerable and exposed and so very alive.

When the truck came down our street and took the limb off of our tree I was beside myself wondering if the tree itself would be alright. One of the people on the scene pointed out the fern to me. Asked me if I knew it’s name. Told me the tree and all things find a way of enduring, find a way of resurrecting, find a way to come back, find a way to live on.

• 

• 

•