The wind blows steadily today. I recently told my grandson to take note of windy days following rainy ones. It is still cloudy and overcast, the air is temperate—in the 60s. It is simply beautiful. I watch as the trees yield to the pressure. They bend but keep standing. The leaves blow and I am reminded of those with hair long enough to blow in front of their eyes.
I can see the bottoms of the leaves as well as the tops, the contrasting light (almost white) and light green. The trees are tall and lanky, designed to grow up more than out. The leaves are serrated. The birds have found this tree, now in its third year and find it steady enough to land in, yet not sturdy enough to build a nest there.
While entire tops of trees are moved in the gale-force winds, only one part of my honeysuckle is moving. It’s a vine that has reached beyond the top of my deck railing and has not yet decided where it would like to land. Last week, I wove it through the railings thinking how lovely it would look to have the yellow flowers decorate the side of the deck. In a day, the plant told me this was not a good idea. The leaves had started to wilt and while the rest of the plant looked happy, this one vine did not. I quickly unraveled it and let it go free. When the sun is out, it follows the light from one side of the deck to the other; when the wind blows, it allows itself to be moved.
I realize that I am not the one to decide where it lands. I make sure it has water and sun. I speak kindly to it. I admire it. I call it by name. Where it chooses to wind itself more permanently is up to the honeysuckle itself. In the meantime I enjoy watching it decide.
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