Wordless Wednesday: The Waiting
I passed a roofing place across the street from the phone company garage in a part of my hometown that was once farmland. That farmland surrendered to sprawl in my childhood. Sprawl often offers glimpses of strange taste. The perimeter of the roofing place's parking lot was marked by plastic palm tree trunks topped by (How to describe?) palm tree fronds fashioned from what seemed to be the discarded branches of artificial (green) Christmas trees. This was multicultural, interdisciplinary landscaping at its very worst. Such things are inexcusable without a miniature golf range in sight. Just plain wrong. But there it was in my little town.
I was not overcome by sentiment as I sped by and planned my next trip into the woods, where I would encounter these leaves and imagine them soon shivering under the weight and cold of the first New England snow. How I love walking in the woods after that first snow. Always, these leaves glow like beacons. There is a strange and peaceful silence that feels like a soft invitation into pure peace. The leaves that will not fall until spring comes say, "Spring comes." And it is lovely.