The Gift of Trees

 Of all the poems I learned in high school,

I think I shall never see one lovely as a tree. 

A mother tree lifting her arms to pray. 

It is in these liminal spaces of my mind that poems slip through, like Joyce Kilmer's poem on "Trees" 

 "A tree that looks at God all day, and lifts her leafy arms to pray." I find these trees reaching out to me on country roads, in parks and walks along cement sidewalks. I talk to them when the moment arises, especially while on the golf courses that I have traversed. 

Rest in Peace dear tree
(d. 2021) 

More than any one piece of literature, Kilmer's poem left an imprint on my soul. Though Kilmer doesn't speak of laughter and grace, I find that the trees have their way of dancing with their arms, bringing smiles to our faces. (This pine tree must have had seeds that saw the Native American dancers weaving gracefully.)

With the New Year beginning and worn out worries of 2024 fading into the twilight I wanted to close the year with the beauty I sense daily from the trees. 

"A tree that in summer wears a nest of robins in her hair;"

We are fortunate that our robins never leave us in Oklahoma. We are no longer the treeless prairie as once described by the pioneers. Our trees are filled with blue jays, finches, doves, hawks, cardinals, crows, grackles and so much more. 

"Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain." 

Trees see, feel, and communicate in ways we cannot imagine. Do they weep when their arms drop in storms or a low blow from mankind? I believe they must, but it is their resiliency that I respect. 

Before we left Kansas I stopped to take a picture of this tree. A tree that withstood God knows what. For the eighteen years I traveled north and south on Monroe street through storms, ice, spring rains and dusty winds that tree stood proudly. I named her Liberty.  

I miss our black rich soil of Kansas and the blooming trees of spring, yet,  I relish the Sugar Maples and Bradford Pears in the fall when they turn from greens to yellows, oranges and reds. We watch as our Bradford Pears hold on to half-dried leaves hanging limply in the autumn winds until at last the grasses are hidden by  soft shades of red under the trees.

"A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed against the earth's sweet flowing breast:"

How is it that one line can mean so much when we see it actually happening right before our eyes. Life is so full of delight and surprise. 

Her home is hidden in Governor Dodge State Park,
Dodgeville,  Wisconsin

Once a year a tree in our neighborhood brings awe and joy to those who find him. He dresses in glowing white lights and casts his eyes upon us with a guiding light to all.  May you all enjoy the gift of our trees in the days and years to come. 

"Poems are made by fools like me,

but only God can make a tree." 

200+ But Who's Counting?

First, I want to Thank You Dear Readers wherever you live on this planet. Without you my words have no meaning, no life. You are the ones who give breath to these printed words.

And yes, I'm counting and examining the two hundred plus blogs I've written since 2010. I want to see if I've become a better writer; to see what I have learned; to reread and reflect; and to look ahead. Searching through the archives on the right side of the screen I realized that my heart is as random as my head. Many of my blogs, like books in a library, touch our hearts or challenge us, but some ought to be discarded. 

Like birds randomly dropping seeds, my finger slipped on the computer screen, as I searched the archives, and I opened Anna's Angel.  I've moved since I wrote that story, but Anna's Angel still has a place over my grandmother's antique secretary desk. 

With my 50th class reunion still fresh on my mind, I searched through the Miami Memories and found two stories that touched me deeply.  One November I spent several days calling my classmates, listening to their voices, their stories

of laughter and sorrow.  Those Moments that Connect reminded me of my January promise: This year my goal is simple but sincere.  Pick up the phone and call a friend once a week. A phone call connects us to the heart of the person, much like using a puppet to communicate.Goals from the Heart

Another Miami Memory shows the depth of sadness in our family in the one week when our President JFK

Aunt Sissie and grandma

was assassinated and my grandmother died in her sleep. Moments in Time.  

Sonya, Jan, and Jeannette

The tremendous impact of reading on my life can't be measured, and I can always find a moment to tell someone about a good book, relate a story about a story, or sit down and visit a new world created by an author's imagination. There are many Readings and Greetings in the last five years of my blog, but perhaps the list and reflection of our Book Club in Hutchinson tells it best.   It is like Edmund Burke says, "Reading without reflecting is like eating without digesting." 
Book Club Celebrates Ten Years

Looking back I can find  stories begging to be told in the oral tradition of  storytelling.  That is, after all, how this

 all began. It is how families stayed connected, and it is how I have reconnected with my family on my mother's and father's side.  Thanks to my grandmother's collection of postcards  about the Clendening family, we now have a thorough shared genealogy file: Consumed by a Story. Through another family post Along the Lonesome Trail, I have met and talked with long lost family members. What memorable moments these stories have given us, one hundred and fifty years later. 

Glancing back to 2010 and 2011 I see what I so dearly miss--those early morning country walks with Lucy. I'm so glad I wrote about those memories, as brief as they might be. They give me reasons to laugh and chuckle at life. I'd forgotten about that little skunk, who's dance captured my heart

 Dancing in the Breeze.  One day a squirrel, in an attempt to out run a horse, instead ran up my leg. Lucy to the rescue still shows the scar of the squirrel on her nose.Walking Pell Mell  I still laugh every time of think of some of these moments. 

What have I learned?  Thanks to comments by my readers, I've learned to increase the size of my font. When our stories connect to the heart  then people relate and feel connected. I've met many new friends and fellow writers online, each with a distinct voice and vision. Their diverse styles, formats, and purposes for writing inspire me and encourage me to continue. 

In the future, I'd like to write more about other people's lives,

walk closer to nature, and continue to explore every aspect that life offers us.

There will always be change, as long as we are still learning. My very first blog, one paragraph long, begins with change and adaption. As difficult as computer programs have been for me to learn, I'm thankful that I have the opportunity to grow and stay connected to the world. Thank you Rosemary Miller for showing me this path. The last lines from my first paragraph reads: Practice, repeat, and continue. So this blog will be a study of learning, living, laughing, and loving life with Letty.

NYC December 2015