A tree that leans in and enjoys being closest to the life giving water is also the first to give its body back to the earth.
I don't care if it's growing on a log. A log that's floating in the water. Twenty feet from shore.
That's still a tree. Amazing, no?
I love April. The serviceberry tree just outside my living room window is about to burst; thanks to my ex-wife for putting it there. The box elders in the empty lot next door are already showing their willingness to break free from winter's grip; they are the first to bud in the spring, and the first to go in the fall.
Now I have to go and tend to the juniper, which fell over in the ice of January....
The tree sprites are working overtime. I think they sit just underground and prime the pumps at a fever-pace this time of year. The buds are showing, but there's still the chill of winter. A man is blowing in the clouds with the smirk of mischief on his face.
We're the ones who'll be laughing soon.
Soon, the trees will dress themselves for the spring dance. Their bare arms will wave in the breeze and disappear; slowly escaping the light of winter.
"It’s 3 a.m. and I’m looking over the pergola covered deck. My tulip tree is wrapped by a scarf of lights; red, blue, yellow and green; blazing against a background of pure white. Planted in summer to mark the corner of the lot, it guards the property from the north and the east. At its base, a collar of powder-dusted Pennsylvania blue-stone folds around the trunk holding back a small flower bed..."
A story born in winter; born of a request from a friend.
Trees: The ultimate inspiration. A source of beauty, a source of strength; energy.