Three hikes in three days!!! Ahhhh! Vacations provide a wonderful excuse to hit the trails. Today, as I was hiking green mountain, a westerly wind was blowing great gusts across the dry grassy hills, laying yellow stalks low to the ground in a rhythmic dance across a golden horizon. I opened my mouth wide to swallow great gulps of air. I imagined the wind traveling across oceans and savannahs, over desserts and mountain tops. I imagined it caressing the whole earth before finding its way into my eager lungs by the mouthful, to be exhaled and continue on its ceaseless journey. I smiled then. Arms stretched wide, laughing at the arrogance of the human mind to imagine itself separate from the whole of life.
Yes, I know it doesn't look like much. It was only about 5 inches in diameter and 8 feet tall. The root ball was no more than 3 feet deep. But it was a sweet red-bud tree that we planted the year Bodhi was born, his placenta was buried in it's roots and like many of the trees in our neighborhood, it died (see this post to understand why) . I can't say that I mourned its death in a tangible way, rather it produced in me a sort of unnameable melancholy. I am a woman who loves the spring. I nearly live for it. When the first signs of life emerge like a haze of hope, I drink in green with the passion of a desert crawling woman sipping at an oasis. I gorge. This year has been hard. Our neighborhood isn't leafing out in native splendor, instead the tired trees seem to begrudge the effort, only offering a tender shoot or bud occasionally. The north side of many trees appear to have given up all together, too tired after a long winter...
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