THE WORRY TREE

PARESH, AN INDIAN CARPENTER I ONCE HIRED

TO HELP ME RESTORE MY OLD FARMHOUSE,

HAD JUST FINISHED A DIFFICULT AND HARD

FIRST DAY ON THE JOB.

A FLAT TYRE ON HIS LORRY MADE

HIM LOSE AN HOUR OF WORK,

HIS ELECTRIC SAW PACKED IN AND THEN HIS

ANCIENT PICKUP TRUCK REFUSED TO START.

WHILE I DROVE HIM HOME,

PARESH SAT IN STONY, THOUGHTFUL SILENCE.

ON ARRIVING, PARESH, IN THE WAY OF ALL

INDIAN GENTLEFOLK,

INVITED ME IN TO MEET HIS FAMILY.

AS WE WALKED TOWARD THE FRONT DOOR,

HE PAUSED BRIEFLY AT A SMALL TREE,

TOUCHING THE TIPS OF THE

BRANCHES WITH BOTH HANDS.

WHEN OPENING THE DOOR TO HIS HOME,

HE UNDERWENT AN AMAZING TRANSFORMATION.

HIS TANNED FACE WREATHED IN SMILES AS HE

HUGGED HIS TWO SMALL CHILDREN

AND GAVE HIS WIFE A KISS.

AFTER A CUP OF TEA,

HE WALKED ME TO MY CAR.

WE PASSED THE TREE AND MY CURIOSITY

GOT THE BETTER OF ME.

I ASKED HIM ABOUT WHAT I

HAD SEEN HIM DO EARLIER.

“OH, THAT'S MY TROUBLE TREE,” PARESH REPLIED.

“I KNOW I CAN'T HELP HAVING TROUBLES

ON THE JOB, BUT ONE THING FOR SURE,

TROUBLES DON'T BELONG IN THE HOUSE

WITH MY WIFE AND THE CHILDREN.

SO I JUST HANG THEM ON THE TREE

EVERY NIGHT WHEN I COME HOME.

THEN IN THE MORNING I PICK THEM UP AGAIN.

FUNNY THING IS”, HE SMILED WINNINGLY,

“WHEN I COME OUT IN THE MORNING TO PICK

THEM UP, THERE AREN'T NEARLY AS MANY

AS I REMEMBER HANGING UP THE NIGHT BEFORE.”