No Demands

The trees in the forest across the road, where my family and I like to spend time, speak to me of perseverance and acceptance and being. They do being very well, far better than any of us. The fir trees are not pines and seem to have no inclination for such a name or essence change. Maples aren’t oaks, birches aren’t beeches, locusts aren’t ashes.

Dennis and I spent time with the trees this afternoon. It was a quiet walk, with few words spoken, and that was good.

As we got closer to home, I thought about pulling a field guide off the shelf to help me better identify who we had just mingled with, but I don’t know if I’ll bother. Well, no, of course I’ll bother, but later. For now, I’d like to give the trees different names: maybe Bill, Fred, Susan, and Betty.

In the past, I brought my camera whenever I ventured into the woods, but I’ve come to prefer leaving it home. Sometimes a viewfinder is just too small. Letting my eyes take in whatever comes to them and narrowing my focus from there lets me see more, at least at this point in my life. As in the past, that will likely change. Since my relationship with my camera is blessedly undemanding, I’m not worried. I can go my own way for as long as I need to and come back when I want the company. The trees across the road are like that, and that, too, is good.