The View
It has come to this. From the drive as I enter it, I can no longer see the house. Trees obscure the view, trees that once were barely more than head high. It’s plain, of course, there is a dwelling, but the details are gone, lost in the leaves. A crape myrtle that was backed over by a car and nearly destroyed on our first Christmas in the house, is thick trunked and dominates its corner ground. A car would lose. The lacy oaks that came the following spring and needed to be staked for three years are starting to reach over the drive with shading limbs.
This morning they will all benefit from last night’s big rain. Of course, there is still no rain gauge. But the ground has that well soaked look that only comes with a good rain. The ground beneath the big trees is a dark, rich loamy color. I suspect they will use the rain to finish filling out with spring leaves. All the trees look washed and clean. The leaves are bright in their green, whatever the shade. And the air, well, it’s clear of particulates and full mainly with moisture. There is the promise of more to come, several days in fact.
It is a good reminder of the magic of time and the persistence of life. My big house, my life, has changed, diminished by the loss of my partner, but all around me are the young trees, aged and tall, children, friends, with their children and friends, enriching the ground around me, creating a landscape that is no singular thing, standing alone in a field. Rather this place, me, has become a universe within a universe, a house that is now a home, with reminders all around that life is about change, some difficult, some easy, but in the end they come and you won’t be able to see the house from the street.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale