Rise and Shine

Most every morning, I take my breakfast at my favorite spot in our lovely old Victorian house...in the living room, snuggled up in my big, comfy chair. There's a large, round, tufted ottoman with my favorite books piled on it. I settle there with my coffee, Bible, a bowl of something warm to eat, maybe a book or two and my phone (to catch any pressing emails or messages from the last night). The phone is a distraction. I wish I could ignore it, though my job requires a constant vigil on the blasted thing. My squirrel brain sees some interesting tidbit within the bowels of the email box and I'm off to the races. But this morning I awoke to literally hundreds of new emails. Somehow some "European business connection" bot got hold of my address and is now flooding my inbox with various numbers of vendors and requests. If this goes on, I might have to finally retire my ancient email address. Wouldn't that be tragic? I don't even know how that works. 

The worst thing about this morning is that when I sat down to my snuggly warm spot in the living room, the golden, dappled light that is always there is no more. Our delightful and huge Water Oak tree, just outside these windows, met its demise yesterday. Our son Daniel rented a bucket truck and carved it down into pieces. Ken and another son, Jon, joined him late afternoon to finish the job. Our beautiful tree had split in half about two years ago during the aftermath of a hurricane, but was hanging on despite missing half of herself. We believed the best of it, though we were told it would eventually die and fall. It was showing signs of faltering, so we bit the bullet and let her go. Now our dear house is exposed, harsh, cold. It will take many years before shade will come again to these windows. 

Life and death circle us all our days. Births and deaths bring new chapters, some delightful, some devastating. I often say that the death of my Daddy made a giant hole in the universe. So here's our new hole in our yard. The gothic wrought-iron fence was damaged. There's a big mess to clean up. How will we adjust? 

Life moves on. The little Sweet Bay Magnolia we planted two years ago will now have more sun, more room to grow. I plan to plant the biggest River Birch I can afford, a bit over from where the Oak was. We'll mulch and pay attention to the yard over there, giving it extra love. I've been nursing a whole army of Creeping Fig along the retaining wall there for many years. It will now have better sun...it thrives in heat. In my mind's eye I can see all these things thriving, growing, reaching to the sky. I will smile at the morning sun that beams in my windows. I will thank God for the comings and goings, for as the world turns, so will I...