sometimes the shallowest wounds are the most visible. cut your finger, and every semi-stranger will ask about the band-aid. harbor a grief you can’t get past, and best friends might distantly suspect.
wounded mulberry plane tree leaf
go kiss the person you love. tell a couple of old friends who aren’t expecting it how much they mean to you. linger over coffee. make something. don’t look at email. don’t read the news. have the kind of day you wouldn’t regret if this were the last of them. we all know how this ends.
a friend of mine lived in nashville for years. she and her husband lived in a state park outside the city, and as a northerner from minnesota, where we pride ourselves on highway shoulders so clean you could picnic off of them, it always took some getting used to, when we would go visit, and find ourselves in what was supposed to be remote nature, but that was so full of man-made stuff that people had left behind and never picked up. it made me think i would have trouble living there, except for one thing–the sheer splendor of the trees in that part of the world. a forest full of redbuds and tulip poplars and walnuts and pecans and cherries and oaks and ash and and magnolias is a sight to make you spend all day looking up in worshipful wonder, and forget the signs of neglect at your feet.
eastern redbud buds
turtle lake, shoreview, minnesota
pick up sticks
i’m sure i’m dating myself with the reference to the childhood game of pick up sticks. but i was pretty good, and so i have good memories of the game. i can already see my strategy here. i think i can lift that top one off without moving any of the others, then i can use the top stick to lift the one that is crossing right underneath it. and then it’s just a matter of patience and a steady hand. if you’re playing against me, don’t get your hopes up that you’ll ever get your turn.
rice creek regional trail, shoreview, minnesota
i took a very elegant, true-to-life photo of a branch of honeysuckle this afternoon, that included the nicely veined opposite leaves, and a chain of delicate, dangling blossoms. it was quite competently done, and completely boring. i tried running it past my family in hopes that they would absolve me, but no luck. so with light failing in the early evening, i tore all the leaves off the branches, and created this artificial, yet not exactly dishonest, appreciation of the beauty of spring honeysuckle flowers. it’s not exactly the truth, but it’s not quite a lie, and it’s beautiful. so a pretty white lie is what you get for mother’s day.
honeysuckle blossom buds