In summer, my patio now gets only five hours of direct sun. No more sun loving annuals. No more potted tomatoes and basil. I loved trees, but not this one. I glared at it with dastardly thoughts of round-up and girdling.
In the last two years, symbols of trees, presences of trees have flooded my dreams, life, and creative work. I am still figuring out what this means. This summer, for boring reasons, my husband and I switched sides of the bed.
One windy night last week, I woke up at midnight. We had forgotten to close the blinds completely. Outside the second story window, back lit by the full moon, waved the unwanted cherry tree. I watched it for a long time. When I wakened in the morning, the tree greeted me like an old friend.
Now I leave the blinds half open every night. Even without the full moon, the cherry tree is back lit by street lights. The tree is the last thing I see at night, and the first thing I see each morning. I now love this tree. It took sunlight from me, yes, but it made that sunlight into something splendid that grew into my life at just the right time.
I have come to believe that many things in our lives are like my experience with this tree—relationships, jobs, tasks, places. The very thing you once disliked, can become something that makes the bells ring out, because wonderfully, everything is always growing and changing.
I need to remember this.
LORE OF THE BELL
When the unwanted becomes the wanted,
the bells will ring.
7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.
7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesday
of every month. Join me on October 14 for a guest post with
explorer/author Marc Calhoun.