The View from My Backyard

Cannizaro Park was my backyard from 1997 through 2001.  There was one tree in particular for which I had particularly fond feelings.  Fond is actually an understatement.  I loved, adored, and practically worshipped this tree.  It was a towering pine tree that I felt was my guardian.  I sat in my bedroom, in a cozy orange chair, sipping pots and pots of tea (because that's what you do in England) and loved my tree.  I know it sounds a wee bit daft, but my tree made me feel as if I were connected to the times of England past.  Camelot and Avalon in my very backyard.  It probably had something to do with the misty mornings.  Or the faeries.

I learned to listen to trees.  They are wise beyond measure.  I hear the whisper of the Divine in the wind blowing through trees.  I admire their steadfast nature.  Neither entirely fixed nor entirely mutable.  They go with the flow.  Other than the willow tree, you don't hear much weeping coming from trees when the seasons ask them to change.  Instead, they bring out their finery and blow our minds with the majestic color parade of late autumn - umber, gold, fiery red, and burnt sienna (my least favorite color from Crayola's Box of 64).  Talk about leaving them wanting more.

And that's what this picture does to my heart.  Opens me up and leaves me wanting more of what my backyard felt like way back around the turn of the century.  That's my hope for this blog...that it will create a space for flexibility, flow, and finery.  With an occasional weep because that's life, too.

For now, that's the view from the lane.