It’s that time of year when winter never seems to quit, or it did quit and came right back again.
As I write this, neighborhood ponds are still frozen over, sun rays won’t stretch long enough to reach. Hunting dogs howl, want to go, tired of waiting. Clear creek-run waters the way, holds hope. Cold sun shines thin through blankets of clouds.
Bundled in layers of wool and down, I walk outside past houses, past the park, into the woods, fingers crossed tight for hope, deep inside my mittens. I know that 20 miles down the road, where the sun shines strong, hundreds of robins fill a small copse of holly trees. Hope for springtime.
This maple tree down the way becomes like a big sister to me. Last night a fierce wind stirred, circled and cycled all night. Two big fat branches lie on the ground now. Still, this hardy native tree can handle amputations, heal and thrive. I like the natural strength of this maple, feel some closeness whenever I walk by, glad to be in love with trees. I count on trees to be my relatives.
I learned the names of trees when I was 12, school assignments lead the way. Collecting leaves, looking up names, meeting the tree, touched a life bone never known. Leaves sway, glow bright like sunrays after gray days. Quiet gifts, like bliss.
Besides winter having really spoken to us this year, it’s now Black History Month. Please consider attending this year’s Multicultural Women’s Development Conference, March 20-21, this year. Women only. It’s an excellent opportunity to experience diversity, learn and reflect.
Details: Visit onedozenwhocare.org.
Mary Ricketson makes her home in Cherokee County. She is a licensed clinical mental health counselor in private practice in Murphy. She has a special interest in women’s issues.