A tree all a-flower.
09 November, 2006. Tagged as Writing
Every work morning I look out the window of my pastry kitchen and see a tree across the road, that sprays purple flowers in the wind. There are times when I look at this tree and understand
. There are times when I simply want to stop work and sit at the bus stop bench underneath it, and it’s at these times that I feel the oldest; when I search for quiet, green places, and know that the world needs to change, but not know how to get it started.
Next week I’ll write the gardener a short note in thanks, and slip it into their mailbox early in the morning.