Day 22 of 30-Day Writing Challenge
This morning I missed joining The Writer’s Hour: Daily Writing Sessions. I couldn’t get out of bed at 8am. Now it’s noon, but I’m still in bed.
Normally I would sit in my den downstairs, looking out the window.
I would see a pine tree. The little sapling I got from Arboretum 20 years ago is now taller than my height. The branches are stylishly trimmed by my pruner friend.
In the center of the tiny front yard is a maple tree with variegated leaves. When I bought it was labeled as Japanese maple, but it doesn’t have the graceful drooping silhouette. The trunk is rather straight. My pruner always struggles with this one.
On the boarder I planted 11 Buddha’s yew about 7 years ago. Finally they are tall and thick enough to almost hide the yard from the side walk, giving me more privacy.
I covered the majority of the front yard with light gray gravel, imitating the sea. The area where the maple tree is planted is considered to be an island. I placed a stone-carved carp on the gravel. Karesansui 枯山水 is the official term for this type of Japanese garden. Instead of creating a real pond, the gravel represents water.
I created it with my own sweat equity. Without my continuous care, this space will be full of weeds.
Today I can’t see my own creation from my bedroom upstairs. Rather, I see four chairs and a wooden table on the small balcony outside the window. How many times did I sit in the chair this summer? How many more summers will I sit there?
The half of the of the view from the window is the gray sky. Clouds with darker shade of gray are sliding from left to right. The Olympic Mountains are completely hidden. I can only see the shoreline of Bainbridge Island beyond the Puget Sound.
The two Douglas fir trees on the left are now more than twice the height of our neighbor’s house. When we moved in here I could barely see the top above their roofline. The branches on the top of the trees are swaying. If an eagle were resting on the branch, would it get motion sickness?
The window is now getting diagonal marks. It has started to rain. The rain that should help contain the wildfire. The rain that would quench the thirst of my trees. Today I welcome the rain.
The island covered with green trees, sound water, mountains, the cloud, and the sky… A hundred years from now they all will still be here. But not me. I will be gone by then. Compared to their existence, what a pity, short life I have.
The fifth COVID vaccine shot has knocked me for a day. Tomorrow I will be well again. Tomorrow I will glance at these trees and the sky only for seconds before rushing downstairs, occupied by my daily chores. Today, however, I will keep on staring out the windows, facing the truth of my brief life.