I spent a good deal of my birthday in the woods. I have been eyeing these berries and these vines for... well, years. I found my clippers and I retraced all the places I had seen them. I filled the back of my car with twisting vines of bittersweet. Before dark, I sat near the hatch and patiently twisted until it was cold and I could no longer see. No one told me the berries would stain my hands. This fact kind of negated my whole purpose, as I had intended the wreath to be hung indoors. I am pleased in spite of the required adjustment of intention. The day was beautiful and blustery and blue. I cannot dismiss my sorrow, but my gratitude eclipses it. Oh! And my husband informs me it was the thirty-first anniversary of our first kiss, not the thirtieth. I stand corrected with berry-stained fingertips....
~
No comments:
Post a Comment