I see this tree twice a day on the school run. On difficult days it lifts my heart.
I haven’t captured how beautiful it is. The leaves are delicate and the most intense burnished mottled scarlet. They glow against the grey morning skies, arranged with careless grace on the knobbled black branches. I stand underneath it and pause to look up for ten seconds. The angular symmetry reminds me of japanese silk paintings. I half expect to disturb a crane and see him flap away awkwardly. Instead it’s me who is tugged insistently back into the morning’s pell mell progress.
One of my main internal resolutions this year was to try to pay more attention to the moment and celebrate the beauty all around me, in all things. Feeding the white wolf to attempt to balance stuff out a little as I fear my gray one is the size of Godzilla.
I think it’s working. It’s been a tough year in many ways. Anyone who’s spent anytime in therapy will recognise the adage that you go in expecting to be fixed and you come out prepared to live fully in whatever broken shape you are. This week, taking a deep cold breath under the trees crimson benediction, I felt as though I could feel every of inch of skin. I felt like you’d get a static shock if you touched me, strumming as I was with happiness. Momentary and fragmented – it passed but I hug the memory of it to me.
Being creative and making things fills me with satisfaction. Selling some of them has given me a much needed feeling of accomplishment and purpose and, possibly, more importantly paid the gas bill.
Of course the house is pretty chaotic – fabric stewn everywhere, bits and bobs balanced on the piano, golden wings hung on a doorknob. Last night Steve suggested if I ripped the mouldy cupboards out of the strange unused room on the way to the kitchen I could use it as a space for all my bits. It’s a DIY project I’ve been dodging and I’ll admit this substantial carrot has got me eyeing the room speclatively.
Picking my way through the islands of discarded fabric around the table I imagine shelves of jamjars filled with interesting bits and shelves of stacked fabric. I find myself wasting gobbets of time on pinboard looking at other people’s organisation. As if I didn’t have plenty of ways to waste time already…
Not that dreaming is ever wasteful.