My eyes moved from growth to growth of mistletoe distorting the silhouettes of trees. I hardly noticed the ropes of liane snaking up and down the branches of the big poirier. The younger strands were reddish brown, bursting here and there into puffs of creamy down. "It can't be a weed," I said. "Start pulling, and you'll see." So I tugged as hard as I could, my feet staggering backward and the palms of my hands burning against the stubborn vine. And then there it was, defeated and lifeless in a heap by my feet. I reached for another strand of the creeper and another. "Don't be too greedy, or you'll bring the whole tree down." But I wanted to tear all the weeds out at once. I wanted to feel them give, like gray hairs being plucked clean from their roots.So I yanked at the twisting ropes until I was covered in their cream-colored fluff, and you laughed, as you coaxed the vine gently down, letting the tree breathe again.
Maureen O'Sullivan as Jane Parker. [Online image] 1940s.
