14 years ago we planted an olive tree. Against all the odds it grew and flurished. My husband is Greek, so its symbolism was never lost upon us. In the January gales the olive was brought down. We replanted her, bought sturdier posts, and hoped for the best.
February passed, then March, and into April and all looked well. The olive tree seemed non the worse for the the violent uprooting. Then - inexplicably - in early May, over a matter of days, the leaves curled and turned brown; the branches sagged and dried to sticks. Olive was no more. The space left is more than physical, there is a place in our heart that only a magical garden makeover could begin to heal.