The Muse

Monday, May 9, 2022

The Giving Tree

Pink dogwood tree outside my window.

 

I fell into a slump last week. You may have noticed that my last week’s blog, May 3, didn’t have much content. The girls, though--yep, they were girls about 30 years ago--singing  What a Wonderful World were exquisite. (Bette Midler, Meryl Streep, Goldie Hawn). Maybe you missed it, I didn’t post it until Wednesday.  

 Why am I doing this? I asked myself.

 I’ve been blogging for nigh on how many years” Fifteen or so.

 And who in the heck needs another blog?

 People have their own research.

 However, do I need to express myself?

 Is that my creative outlet?

 Yep, and fifteen million others need to do that as well.

 And then I decided I was worthy of leaving a few footprints on the planet, however small, large, or muddy.

 

 This morning we gave our apple tree a proper burial.

 It split in half yesterday. It was an old tree leaning precariously over the neighbor’s yard. Then a great gust of wind gave it a shove, and it crashed smack dab on the neighbor’s lawn—a beautiful landing.

 The left portion lies parallel to the ground, then branches upward into the sky. We left it to see if it would survive. The tree was in bud, so it was pretty. What a way to go—in glory.

 I praised it for being a good tree, and husband dear dragged out the chain saw and cut it into pieces that Daughter Dear and I could load into the pickup. (How do people manage without a truck?) This morning, Husband Dear and I took it to be recycled, and I told it that, in the future, it would be someone’s vegetables.

 We left a couple of logs that could be yule logs if someone would haul them away.

 We never liked the apples that tree produced—sorry to say, but a nice man gathered them from the ground and took them to feed his pigs, who did like them, so again the tree contributed.

 We give our gift, right?

 I found how much some physical activity helped my mood. I’m sorry the tree gave so much to accomplish that, but going to the recycle place, meeting friendly people, happily unloading, was a shot I needed.

 Right now, I’m about to believe in spontaneous generation. Suddenly, from some unknown source, house flies appeared at the window of my Wayback office as though they were hatched there. I’ve killed a few dozen, but more magically appear. They look the same as the others. They fly the same and are a bit sluggish as the others. They must be different flies, for I have carcasses to prove it. Time to get the hand vac.

 My little dog likes to come here with me. I’m glad. I didn’t know if she would want to be out of the house, but having a heater under my desk has proven to be a happy place. Before I leave for my office, she dances, telling me it’s time to get to work.

 The sun is out. As I was shopping this morning, someone commented that we’ve had terrible weather. It’s been raining, I thought, but I didn't say "It's supposed to rain in the spring"

Much of the vegetation around our house had been here for years. The house, however, has been remodeled. And speaking of trees, there’s a very ancient pink dogwood outside my window that was cut down to bare branches when we bought the house, so we didn’t know what it was. It isn’t as abundant in flowers as some of the younger trees in the area, but it’s giving its gift too.

No comments:

Post a Comment