The Rocking Horse Tree

Lately I've been thinking about the little moments in 2010 that have captured my heart and painted this year into its breathtaking light. One moment when I knew everything was going to be okay -- when I needed a concrete sign from the Universe -- was the day after I moved in with Lisa. I was on the phone with Jordan, crying a little about letting go, and I wandered down from my home to Irving Park. A light rain scattered drops here and there, and I was trying to shield my phone from water damage, and I walked by this line of trees before you step off the path and onto the fields. Looking up I saw a rocking horse, one of those plastic ones that usually rests on metal springs for children to bounce around on in their youth while they pretend they're cowboys & cowgirls. Mom, remember when I was maybe two, and you'd put on "Birds of Prey" by Uriah Heep and I'd ride that rocking horse in Lemont like nobody's business? This horse looked a lot like that one. Someone had dangled it by wires from a thick and sturdy branch, and the horse was turned upside down, and I had no idea how long it had been there. Was this some kind of prank -- had some teens stolen it from a family's porch and jokingly strung it up for show? Or was this some artist's statement, some commentary on lost youth and rusting innocence? No matter what the case, it was beautiful and odd and so out of place yet so perfect. So I talked to Jordan and I sat against the tree trunk, only mildly anxious the horse would tear free from the wires and come crashing down on me. It was worth it. Back home, I told Lisa about the anointed Rocking Horse Tree and said we should do a photo shoot with one of her old Polaroid cameras; we both got so excited at the thought; I knew she'd find it beautiful like me. And so over the next couple weeks, as I got acquainted with my new neighborhood and learned my favorite walking routes, I made sure to always include The Rocking Horse Tree somewhere in the mix. And then one day, lo and behold, it wasn't there anymore; just wire remained, coiled and lonely; someone (park rangers?) had taken the horse down. Sure, objectively it makes sense that it could be a hazard or seen as some kind of "objectionable" piece of randomness that was tainting the park's serenity. But I found it to be a weird and wonderful quirk, an imprint of creativity, this big old tree joining forces with a childhood staple, granted one tarnished by rain and dirt and use. In the end, though, I can only hold fond thoughts of my Rocking Horse Tree. And while that's all they'll ever be -- thoughts, memories -- I can still hold it in my heart. I still walk by the tree and stare up at the wire, wondering where the horse went, if it ended up back on someone's porch, or in a garbage dump, or part of some new artist project.