the friday sky through camellia bushes-almost-trees.
despite the snow and cold and the icicles that hung from their branches, the trees are budding, though perhaps those buds and baby flowers are frozen in place. perhaps i'm wrong about it all, but i daily pass pear trees that seem to be standing still, just waiting to usher in the spring, and i have hope they will. there is snow still on the ground in places, and a cold wind still blows, and there is a threat of more last minute winter, but i refuse to pay attention. instead i say my gratefuls - the tree that was cut down (last year? the year before?), whose leaving broke my heart, opened my view to the tulip tree, which seems grateful for the space and extra sunlight, and stands dotted with pink blossoms, a good morning moment at the beginning of a gray day.
sunday morning: my hurry up walk, rain due at noon, found me passing a boxwood hedge towering overhead, a thick hedge squared off on all its edges with a door connecting two sections, a wooden door closing off the magic yard beyond. it is, nonetheless, a yard i can see a bit of, the top of the door about face high to me and no hedge overhead. it is a door you can't see until you pass the edge of the boxwood, nestled back as it is. i cannot overstate its magic and seclusion, but when i walk i usually pass by quickly and think later. but this past sunday, when i rounded the edge of the hedge, i found myself eye to eye with a red tailed hawk, he sitting atop that door, then gone in half a second, so fast and so close i am surprised his feathers didn't brush my cheek as he leapt into the air. . . . and exhale.
did the hawk mean anything more than the lizard i'd awakened to the previous sunday? i think not - i take them both as gifts. i wonder what this next sunday will bring and wish i had a box in which to keep these gifts, and then remember i do. it's called emma tree, and i drop them in oh-so-carefully with words and a soft pat on the head.
i'd not thought of this place here on the internet as a keepsake spot, but of course it is. it's what keeps me coming back. when i think i'm done, i open the lid and look around, and know i'm not.
monday was my 7th blogiversary, and i forgot. i have been filling this space for 7 years and now into 8, and it feels like a part of who i am - there have been times i wouldn't have thought or said that, but only this morning it occurs to me that it is a treasure box, full of secrets and losses and bare toes and flowers. it calls for a celebration and a give away, i think, that sudden awakening, but i am running late and rambling, and will have to give it some thought.
but first a thank you. to the people who have been visiting from the get-go, to the people who drop in now and again. to the people who have stopped visiting - you've taught me more than you'll ever know. to the people who believed in me and published my words. to the people who've bought paintings and photographs and magazines just because i'm in them. to the people who comment and the people who don't. to the people who hold my hand through the hard times and laugh with me when a laugh is needed. to the ever-wonderful michael, who has believed in me before i ever hit the publish button. to my family and friends who have always been supportive - always. y'all have been on these pages with me every day.
xoxo to you all.
let's see what this eighth year holds.