AWAITING THE RUSH

 

The TREE lost a great limb this week, with the weight of the ice and snow in the past months bending it past bearing.   One morning we woke to see the huge branch hanging from way up high, dangling implausibly from what looked to be a four-inch-wide strip of bark---tee-nincy faraway twig-tips just twirling against the garage roof far below.

 

And so we had to have the limb down, with several other roof-scrapers removed in the process, leaving a gap between limbs and house.   That should make the patio sunnier than usual for while, until all the green fills in.

 

I spend a while every day, looking up into that gigantic, magical tree, which was one of the reasons we bought the house.

 

There’s just something about Spring up here---in the South, I was accustomed to an EARLY Spring---even in February, leaves and flowers were showing their little efforts, gently coming into their own as the sun altered course and warmed them each day. The plants were rather meditative, I thought, with a way of taking their time, swelling and growing and just soaking up life from the ground and the sun.

A whole lush Summer of bloom and leaf stretched out, with a long-lasting Fall to keep their course, and the bearing season was full and rich and long.

Up here, things seem to KNOW that the time will be short, and they just sort of JUMP out of the ground, seeking the warmth and growing like mad. One day, a glance at our own small circumscribed horizon around the yard reveals drab, sere sticks with a far-view reaching through the angles.

Next day, the pale tint of green is a shadow on everything, and suddenly, leaves are shusshing and the little ears are budding out and it's all making a dash for its life, to absorb and swell and grow before the too-soon cold comes.

And I think the burst of this Indiana Spring can be seen almost in fast-motion---even more rewarding, as it's nearly like fluttering the pages of a picture-book, to see the images change color and form, with the little dog running through the gate and home.

And standing with my neck cricked far-far back, looking up into the universe of this great tree---that's like looking way far through a telescope into a world not traveled yet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

PS at 10:30 p.m.   Speaking of telescopes, we were hoping to watch the eclipse tonight, but the cloud cover is much too dense.    And then there’s that pesky SNOW.