A tree half empty, or half full?
In a recent conversation with my dad, he said he was disappointment with the apple trees he planted several years ago. They haven't ever bloomed for him -- not in at least seven years -- and things aren't looking good for next spring either. I wondered how he could predict a blossom-less spring, and then my mom pointed out that the trees hadn't set buds this summer. Of course. Right. No buds now, no blooms next spring.
With that, I realized something I never noticed before. Trees set up their buds in the summer to prepare for the following spring. It makes complete sense. I just never paid attention to it. But now, as the autumn leaves peel away from the trees -- my trees, in my own yard -- I've been noticing buds. Everywhere.
I used to look at autumn differently: colors giving way to lifeless browns and grays. Now I see trees pulling back their colorful curtains to reveal a stage newly set for a lively spring scene. I saw it again yesterday, as the wind caught the leaves of the tree right outside my back window. Michael and I have enjoyed watching this tree make its gradual turn from green to yellow to red, and now brown. The tree may be slipping into its dull hibernation, and yet I see it plump with the promise of new life. New buds. Isn't it funny how our perspectives on something can change when we take the time to notice the little details?