The Reach of the Branch Reveals the Depth of the Root

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In my neighborhood, there are many live oaks. Their winding and twisting limbs spread in a majestic canopy, green leafed capillaries against the sky.

I pause in my morning walk to place a hand on deeply furrowed bark. Under my palm, a force rises from the earth and gently filters into my heart. I walk on.

Life has some possibility yet.

In Strange Places

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A grey and cold day, close to but not at freezing. I struggle in days without sun. I struggle still with the weight of a heart heavy with grief. Everywhere I look, I see only gray.

Except.

I pull up to an intersection. To my right, a former used car lot. A metal pipe runs its perimeter. A dull orange, it is the color of marmalade, of deep saffron, of a barn swallow’s throat.