The Art of Listening

The art of listening is lost on those that want for themselves

Only the selfless can gift you grace

A good ear gifts value to those it is offered

washing away the angst of 'less than"

and building a walkway

to more

Garden of Growth

Call me crazy, but I lost something today that was with me for many years, fourteen to be precise.  It was shockingly difficult and actually brought me to tears.

Let me tell you about what I lost.

I can still remember our first encounter.  It was fourteen years ago.  We had recently moved in to a new house and  you know the saying, "new house new baby", well, we had an entire yard to landscape and I was looking for a few saplings to start a garden.  I went to Seone's in Abington where they were offering an educational seminar on planting and landscaping.  It was a great class and once complete, I walked around the nursery looking for ideas.  That's when I saw it, off in the distance, all by it's self, this adorable weeping pussy willow tree, about six feet tall and abundant with fluffy, soft  white pussy willows tinged with a border of yellow pollen lanugo.  It was my baby and instantly I loved the tree.  I wanted it but wasn't sure I was the right caretaker. It deserved a qualified home that would nurture and love it into maturity.  I circled around a dozen times contemplating my abilities and decided it was best to give it the careful thought it deserved.

A life, with my family...was it good enough?  I stocked that tree like a hawk it's prey.  I went back weekly for 2-3 weeks checking on it, visiting,  sweeping past as though I was there for another purpose, secretly lurking behind the hydrangeas and as others walked past and caressed her willows, I finally cracked and realized we were meant to be.  I carried her to my car and kept her warm in the heat of my vehicle.  Gently I cradled her and with careful thought, I placed her as a focal point in the yard where I could see her with every sunrise and sunset.  She was a beacon in a field of immaturity.  She looked over the lilacs, peonies, cypress and cottoneasters with the delicacy of a child at a tea party.  Her mop like trestles spread and opened resembling an umbrella, a top the hill. Her trunk acceded to the strength of the wind, leaning a bit more with each passing year.  Yet her beauty and variety through the seasons, inspired me to prose and thought. She was my poetic model, a life I loved and grew to cherish.

Tragically, my soil was cold and hard.  Her roots could not penetrate the clay that resided beneath the surface.  Her growth was strangled by that which surrounded her and in time, her fight succumbed to the environment and she failed.  I was heartbroken when I saw her life fading, slowly diminishing to less each year.  I hung on trying to bring her back to her vibrant strength of earlier years but it was no longer within her spectrum of strength.  She was already moving on to a new purpose of which I was no longer the beneficiary.  Yet as strange as it may seem to have this unorthodox connection with an arboreous statue, this experience offered some insight into my life's directives.

Whether arboresque or earthly beings...

Every encounter begins with two and it's growth extends past that which birthed it.

Enjoy the willow while it flowers,
love it in it's dormant stage,
care for it as it ages,
learn from it through every stage.