Quiet Time
I meant to go sit in the pool last night. Never did. Don’t know why. It’s funny how you can get an idea early in the day to do something, and when the time comes it just seems like too much trouble. I wonder if that’s a sign or a symptom? Hard to tell. I think I was just tired. That happens. You get tired. I haven’t been monitoring my sleep lately, so it could be that. But then again, I got tired of monitoring my sleep. It seemed a little obsessive.
I do know I was sitting around feeling monastic yesterday. Brother John. I was enjoying the silence. Took a walk around, watered a few plants. Marveled how big the once young trees are getting. Maybe I should stop calling them young, although in the life span of trees they are, young. The burr oak has an interesting quirk. There’s a spot where you can stand and there are no limbs. I think it’s a competing for sun and water thing. The spot is opposite a big crape myrtle and yaupon holly, maybe the two sent out signals and said, don’t come this way.
I think the burr oak will get the last laugh, however, because it’s getting tall. In time, the holly and the crape myrtle will become little trees, truly. Same goes for the lacy oaks on the other side of the holly and the crape myrtle. Their limbs are starting to poke out over the drive, which was the idea. A shaded driveway to drive into, seemed restful. That’s on one side. On the other they’re going to meet up with the burr. It’s a plant version of continental drift. Eventually, they’ll collide, and little tree mountains will rise up and there will be shade.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale