The View
Progress is being made. The sumacs, which lined the ground between my house and the fence of the back pasture, are disappearing. They are being meticulously cut and pulled by yours truly. The view of the pasture is back in season. I had let it slip away these last five years as the voracious little shrubs conquered ever more ground and closed in around me, cutting off my view and shortening my horizons. But that’s done.
I have my view again. I will sit on the porch. Listen to the music to play. I will watch the pasture from my windows. I will see the deer cross into the distant trees. I will see the heifers and their calves. The little red bull. The wildflowers. I will watch the shadows on the distant hills. See clouds lit by the setting sun. Watch the windmill. I will see past the end of my nose.
It’s a good feeling to look up and out, to watch, to observe. There’s always something happening, and all I need to do now is look, because the trees that previously blocked my view are gone. It makes me wonder how many times I’ve let metaphorical trees block my view and keep me from seeing. How many times have I let fear and anxiety create imaginary forests? More than I care to count, I imagine. But it’s never too late to learn. And now that I can see the pasture, maybe there will be other things to see, and other thoughts to think, and other dreams to dream.