A year ago I was still in AZ. It is spring there too.
Spring in the new city looks different. It feels different, but shouldn't I be happy? It's spring, and from every
window I see trees in bloom. All shades of green, white, fuchsia and lavender, perfectly planned and placed.
Am I happy in the new city? I do not know. Do we ever ask one another or ourselves, are you happy?
The question I get always: how do you like it so far? So far, I have survived. The winter, barely over, was lingering and cold, but I survived. The last nine months have been emotionally painful, but I am surviving.
This tree sits in front of the old house. It was planned and placed many years ago to grow tall and
shade the front porch. When we moved in last summer, it looked like it was dying. No one had cared for it for a long time. An old support rope was embedded in the trunk and it was starved for water.
We removed the rope, as well as hundreds of twinkle lights that had been entangled in the branches for
years, said the neighbors.
I gave it water and pruned the dead branches. The local nursery guy said he was not hopeful. I was
not holding onto hope either, but the tree survived. Spring brought vibrant blooms and the tree looks happy. When I sit on the front porch, I cannot help but contemplate another life metaphor. While I may not be able to say with resolution, I am happy, I can say that there is hope. And, there is always another spring.
* * * * *
Spring in the new city looks different. It feels different, but shouldn't I be happy? It's spring, and from every
window I see trees in bloom. All shades of green, white, fuchsia and lavender, perfectly planned and placed.
Am I happy in the new city? I do not know. Do we ever ask one another or ourselves, are you happy?
The question I get always: how do you like it so far? So far, I have survived. The winter, barely over, was lingering and cold, but I survived. The last nine months have been emotionally painful, but I am surviving.
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| - flowering crabapple - |
This tree sits in front of the old house. It was planned and placed many years ago to grow tall and
shade the front porch. When we moved in last summer, it looked like it was dying. No one had cared for it for a long time. An old support rope was embedded in the trunk and it was starved for water.
We removed the rope, as well as hundreds of twinkle lights that had been entangled in the branches for
years, said the neighbors.
I gave it water and pruned the dead branches. The local nursery guy said he was not hopeful. I was
not holding onto hope either, but the tree survived. Spring brought vibrant blooms and the tree looks happy. When I sit on the front porch, I cannot help but contemplate another life metaphor. While I may not be able to say with resolution, I am happy, I can say that there is hope. And, there is always another spring.
* * * * *
Wow, so glad the tree survived! The blossoms are gorgeous!
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