I once came across a tree wearing a woolly jumper. It was one of those days when I was feeling stuck in an undesirable, uninspired moment. I put the blame on the weather. It was also stuck—its wind sleeping tightly, its sunshine hiding behind miles of dull grey cloud, its precipitation delivering hours of persistent drizzle.
I was in Galway, Ireland. It was late January. The holiday decorations were gone and there were no kind spring bulbs or blossoms offering the promise of new beginnings. The trees were naked, displaying their intricate geometry of sticks against a bland canvas. They looked as cold as I felt, and neither they nor me could take any comfort from the few evergreen pines, which had all grown so tall that their only offering, close to the path, was wet bark that smelled stale and not woodsy. I was traversing across the university on a quiet Saturday afternoon, taking a short-cut to town and wanting to bathe in that air of optimism that I think universities typically ooze. But on this day, even the campus seemed stuck. That is, until I saw the tree.
At first, it made me feel vindicated. The weather was so cold and miserable that even nature needed to layer-up and put on some colour to brighten the gloom. In the next moment, suspicion revved its engine. There wasn’t anybody around. I wondered if my reaction was being recorded on camera. Was this a psychology research project? Or perhaps some fun little reality prank show for the campus website?
Regardless, I did what most anyone would. I fished out my camera and circled the tree, taking a few pictures. The sweater was inspiring, boasting a grand variety of stitching patches, colour and design I wished I could have a matching one, even though I doubted I could ever pull off something that bold. I noticed a lost flyer on the ground, a bit torn and dirty. I picked it up and learned the story. The tree was a model, the woolly jumper an advertisement for the campus knitting club, and an exhibition they had held the previous weekend. It was a very clever promo, I thought.
I felt a laugh escape and realised I was no longer stuck in a bleak moment. I had stumbled into a better moment, one of appreciation for the little unexpected, whimsical treats life can deliver, even if they come dusted with a thin mist of rain and served with a side of grey sky.
Whimspherical 