I am more prone to dreaming than when we were mountainside. That surprises me because over there, lines blurred between past and present. We were laying down new memories over the intense, long-distance caregiving ones with my mother’s dementia. Sidled along with history is a place of absurd, off-the-charts beauty. I had a daily dose of a primal, quiet, in-your-face, understanding: we live in this currency called ‘time’ and this enormous, fathomless beauty and human heartache is temporary.
When we got home, I learned that our friend, owner of our rental house cut down the healthy 50-75 year old hemlock tree that served doses of delight and practical shade. Mornings I had an unusually close-up view of many quick twittering birds that would visit the tree for a taste of something and then race off in their funny way to somewhere else. Its branches framed many photos that I took. And in late afternoons the deck was a too-bright, too-hot desert. Enter the cooling Hemlock with just a hint of pine fragrance.
Of all the trees, I got attached to this tree.
If that’s not enough, hemlocks are currently dying at an alarming rate in the United States. A foundational forest tree that serves many types of lifeforms. Its troubles seems to be a deadly combo of too many drought seasons (it is not drought tolerant) and the invasive Hemlock Woolly Adelgid.
After hearing of its demise, my heart was an angry muscle pumping hard and flinging vile thoughts. It was ugly, I was ugly, the whole word was greedy, and ignorant, and ugly. I finally calmed down and listened to something other than myself.
Gratefully, it was the mountain that talked me off the ledge. Here is my diary in the city, late autumn 2024.
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Late autumn, a city neighborhood view. A few leaves are able to hold on. The light is more airy and lightly filtered with yellow.
Too much is made of ‘peak’ foliage.
Thinking of several friends who are in the depth of grieving right now. Feeling this softness. This wet rawness.
Specific sharp memory has faded of that dementia caregiving time. My mother still appears –here and there– as ghosts always do. The core of all sadness is love.
A portal, or just the play of a mirror? This is on the Mystic River in my neighborhood.
Don’t you think it’s kind of perfect how reflections are upside-down? The Now moment in different dimensions.
Disorienting for a minute.
I’m in a space of reflection, alot like dreaming.
Here I awkwardly translate what the mountain said to me:
All will burn or boulders will fall or floods will drown the whole path. Nothing can stay still, child. You’ve seen the rivers in the air draping and playing peekaboo with us on many mornings. You saw the filtered light and smelled the burn from hundreds of miles away–fires from further north, in Canada.
It all goes away and changes.
The world inside and out continues to create, if you need it, that is where forever is.
My integration of the mountain message turns into a reminder sticky note:
Love, the super-food of nouns and verbs: keep letting in that soft and bold and brave and topsy-turvy light. Our heart breaks involuntarily. Listen and let it repair itself. Build that muscle. Don’t let your puny ideas get in the way for too long.
Lovely.
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heart heart heart emoji.
Dear Wendy – your photos are stunning! And I am touched by what you wrote, very poignant and emotive. Thanks for sharing. I wish you both the happiest of holidays!
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Thank you so very much Nancy!
keep writing and pic taking. missing you and that gentle meandering way you have with words. happy holidays to you two!
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I and we miss you too! Thank you for your words Joyce.
What talent u have my dear.Uve been speaking to the gods of that I am certain.,and the photos, nobady could capture what u have.Maine loves u as so do I. Hoppy holidays to u both.
U are sooo talented Wendy. Uve been talking to the gods as of this I know and nobady could capture the photos like u enjoyed spending time with u it meant a lot to me. Stay healthy and I wish u happy holidays from the heart
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It was soo very good to connect with you while we were up there. And thank you Evelyne.