Bush: (n) a shrub or clump of shrubs
One of the more comical things to pursue is a return visit to the homestead of your youth, to discover that everything is half the size, half the beauty, half the value and therefore, half the blessing.
I did it.
I went back to my home and just had to giggle all through the process, peering at the lawn I was convinced was twenty acres in size when I had to mow it, but now seemed barely large enough for three children to play.
The brick home I remembered as being hugely sufficient was now a postage stamp for a very tiny letter.
But there, next to the driveway, was the bush–still remaining–always a great paradox to me, or maybe even a metaphor. Because every year this bush sprouted little red berries, which looked so tantalizing, but my mother insisted were poison. And every time I reached over to pick them, or even touch them, she screamed her warning about their danger.
Yet in all the years we lived there, nobody ever tried to remove the damn bush so little fingers wouldn’t be tempted. It just sat there, being beautifully red with fruit, crying to me to disobey my mother and pursue the wonder of the unknown.
Yes, now I know how Eve felt.