This sweet little spot on Trail Creek.. This is where the cardinals sing, the nuthatch peek, and the thrashers thrash. Here.. the wind blows from the north..
Memories
(Memories)
Every year when this flower blooms I am reminded my of Grandma Rabun. She was probably the kindest most loving woman I have ever known. She gave me these bulbs when I was very young and I have carried them with me everywhere I have lived. I look forward to them bursting out of their tightly wrapped buds overflowing with textures and patterns and silky petals. An iris's center - the perfect sneak peek to the coming orgasmic explosion waiting for just the right moment to erupt.
I started gardening because of these flowers. I had to have a place for them. My grandmother did not have a lot when she left this earth other than her family and her flowers. And with the planting of her bulbs in my new home as a youngly married princess to my prince charming came my love of the earth in a whole new way. As I consider this it is funny to me now because everyone in my family always had a lovely vegetable patch and I spent most of my summer days in them..
but those..
those were vegetables.
An Iris is a flower.. A stunning work of beauty that bursts out of the leaves on a single fragile stem for all to see, but they do not let us forget they are there quietly waiting all year with their triangular pointed leaves..
Flowers..
Iris's brought this rebellious soul back to the garden in the most subtle way - in the way only my Grandma Rabun could have taught me to do it.
And, so, with every Spring I wait. I watch. I tend the garden around the bulbs making sure we're all set for this growing season. When my Grandma's beautiful irises arrive I make sure I turn my eyes to them daily until they are all done for another season and then, I get back to my vegetables.. (the way she would have wanted me to).
In the Pines
Today, I was talking with my friend, JoJo, about pines. It turns out he too has a relationship with pines similar to mine. He was telling me today that when he is under the pines he feels calm and like the world is right. (Those are my words of what he was describing to me.) He was telling me about one pine tree in particular that he loves because it makes him think of his dad. As we were talking I was sharing with him my love of the pine warbler. It is my belief they sing to the pines and we are rapidly approaching the time when they begin their spring song. I was telling JoJo they would begin singing soon. The earth will begin stirring in just a few weeks and even though our weather will be cold the light will change and the yellow of spring begin to appear. As I was telling him of their song, as if on cue, one sang. At first, I was not certain of it - maybe it was just my mind making things up. Sure enough as the day grew warmer the pine warbler offered its songs to the pines a few more times. It sang enough for my good friend JoJo to hear it too. Now, he also knows the pine warbler. Maybe he will hear them when he is in his stand of pines and think to himself of how they sing so sweetly to the pine trees.
This Old Tree
This old tree
Has been standing longer than me.
It died many years ago.
A large healthy limb in the pine beside it is all that keeps gravity from pulling it to the earth to depcompose.
I have been watching and waiting
For years now.
Each time I walk near it I look at it and wonder
When it will fall.
I wonder if I will notice it when it is no longer there..
I wonder where it will fall.
And, what it will look like when it does..
And what it will sound like..
It isn't much to look at.
Even the birds stay away from it.
Most humans would never notice it.
It is almost invisible in its standing decay..
I could easily knock it down.
It wouldn't take very much.
But I don't.
Instead..
I wait.
