I've fallen in love again. It happens every season. This time, it's with the sycamores in our neighborhood, those towering trees with the camouflage-skinned trunks and dinner-plate leaves. I stop on the sidewalk, gazing upward, trying to keep my balance, wanting more.
On my walk I spotted a four-foot sycamore limb that I was tempted to drag home. Then I heard Jack. . . there she goes. Another stone, another leaf, another feather. . .
Turns out I only brought home one small leaf, especially bright red, and a funny little bulbous thing with something that looks like straw growing out of one side. Looks like a, mmmm, I'm not sure.
But it seems that every season, one particular thing captures my attention, claps my brain solemn, and grounds me as much as anything can. In the past, I've fallen in love with nasturtiums, massive elms, oaks, hibiscus, stargazer lilies, spritely maples, hummingbirds, river rocks, and stickbugs. I've searched out pinecones, turkey feathers, rose rocks, birds nests, strips of birch bark, and papery sheets of red pine bark. It never ends.
And this time it's the sycamores.
On my walk I spotted a four-foot sycamore limb that I was tempted to drag home. Then I heard Jack. . . there she goes. Another stone, another leaf, another feather. . .
Turns out I only brought home one small leaf, especially bright red, and a funny little bulbous thing with something that looks like straw growing out of one side. Looks like a, mmmm, I'm not sure.
But it seems that every season, one particular thing captures my attention, claps my brain solemn, and grounds me as much as anything can. In the past, I've fallen in love with nasturtiums, massive elms, oaks, hibiscus, stargazer lilies, spritely maples, hummingbirds, river rocks, and stickbugs. I've searched out pinecones, turkey feathers, rose rocks, birds nests, strips of birch bark, and papery sheets of red pine bark. It never ends.
And this time it's the sycamores.
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