Strong, resilient, defiant- our tree next to our house always seems to be the last tree standing clothed. Others gave up their fancy robes and are now baring their branches to the sky.
Not our gal, she remains clothed in splendor, unwilling to give up her orange robe–either afraid to shiver longer through the winter months, or protected from the winds that have stripped the other neighborhood trees. She scoffs at the others who have been chastened to move on to the next thing. She laughs at the days to come.
The leaves cling to her branches. Browning now. Shriveled. Dejected. Unyielding, they hang on.
I can’t tell if it’s pure tenacity keeping them attached, or if it’s the deep care and love and nutrients provided for them, that have kept them from their inevitable release.
For a few brief moments in time leaves clutter the yard filling it with color and texture, begging rakes and leaf jumpers. Inviting play, inviting work.
Wet, sloppy fodder for the master builders of all things winter. Little critters prepare their dens. Little children prepare their piles. Little humans prepare their plan of attack.
The unfortunate ones who’ve scattered too close to our front have found themselves blown, chopped, mulched and bagged for another foreign land. They are forced to bring nutrients and life to a place that has never known their beauty.
Others will remain next to us, until the parks mower man arrives to do it’s best to help them onto their next death, their next life, their next mission, their next meal for the million of a critters who we can’t see beneath our feet– providing all things for us tirelessly and without glory.
She knows it’s coming. The cold. The wind. The bright blue skies more visible through her barren branches. Blinding sun. Frigid temps. Wet. White. Snow. Providing the best blanket winter can offer to her until the world invites her offerings of green once more.
She’s been here before. She’s seen these days come and go. “‘Tis a season,” they say. As if a season can’t be long and unrelenting- a million moments in every day, hundreds of hours every week, and weeks that seem to stretch for miles before the promised light at the end of the tunnel arrives.
She braces for this journey. Is she ready? It’s lonely but for the few brave souls who have found a home in her branches, thanking her for the gift of safety for the days to come.
She is. It’s time. One. Last. Drop. Welcome Winter.
You come as an inevitable guest. Not always invited, but inescapable, predictable and necessary nonetheless. She welcomes you- season of hardship, of stark contrasts, of monotones and maker of ear-muff days.
I welcome you because you too are part of my journey. A companion to my life. An environment for my… good…despite or maybe even in it’s pain.