By chris-chris92 on Skatehive
Sometimes you live with something so long that it becomes part of your background, like a familiar corner of a room or a sound you stop noticing. That’s how it was with the palm tree in front of my house. It’s always been there, tall and calm, watching the street, holding the sky in its fronds. I pass by it every day, barely giving it a glance, like most people do with the things that have always existed in their lives. But that tree is more than bark and leaves. It holds the memory of someone who shaped my life in ways I only fully understand now. When I was a child, my grandfather spent most of his afternoons in the garden. I would sit beside him, legs crossed in the dirt, watching his hands move through soil like he was reading a book no one else could see. He used to say plants were like people, each with their own rhythm and silence. The palm was just a tiny thing when he planted it, just a bit taller than I was back then. I remember the way he patted the earth around it like he w