behindtheax

the tree

The tree outside my window still has two hundred or so dried copper leaves hanging from its limbs. It will take another strong wind to shake them free. The neighbours across the street have moved out. She was nice, I will miss her although I am sure I will she her around from time to time. Erin and Monica’s first term in school is almost over. Term marks are trickling in on some of the subjects. They are both doing well. Monica is a going concern these days. She has many friends, lots of invites, a pretty steady babysitting job, yoga on Fridays, and puts tons of effort into her school work. Science, math and French are her strong areas. She also does very well in computer (these strengths are all from her Dad). Erin is not so go, go , go – she’s shy, spends a lot of time in her room listening to music, learning the songs, she starts her projects the night before they are due and she writes poetry that she rarely shows to anyone. They are opposites and wonderful.

I won a book last week. The Android’s Dream by John Scalzi. I was pleased about that and the biggest thing I did last week was join an online writer’s workshop – Critters. I was thinking about doing it for a long time but only just got the nerve up. It is a well-run site, I believe. If I critique one story a week than I think I can get a story of mine critique probably once a month – depends how many stories are up. Anyway, I took about two hours trying to critique the very first story they sent me and only wrote 300 words. It is so hard to critique someone else’s work. I kept trying to tell myself that I was just a reader stating what I liked and didn’t like. Because when I started thinking of myself as a writer too, I started getting insecure – like who am I too be critiquing this person’s work? I think it will get easier though. I’m hoping.

Another small accomplishment is I finally made it up The Hill on my jog. There is this hill I always avoid because it is just too bloody steep but Wednesday I tried and got to the top. Felt a little like Rocky until the day after when I was so sore I regretted doing it.

As I was looking out the window at my tree and thinking about something to write, I remember a poem I wrote last January. Thought I would post it.

Every year it gets bigger
The tree in the front yard
Elm of yellow leaf, of winter bare branch
The hydro men come by sometimes to
cut the arms
That might some day lean on the wires
And every year it reminds me
I’m from away.
When I arrived it was a sapling, almost straight
My fingertips could touch when I held
It’s slim neck in a choker’s grip.
It belonged more than i
to a postage stamp yard
In front of a busy street
But that is only because
it knows patience
Someday I’ll climb its branches
Once it reaches a certain point of sky,
when its trunk is layered thick with seasons
today however
from the January window of my bedroom
I will count each limb of bronze
Each wiry sinewy pinnacle
And the five withered copper pipe leaves
That hang tight
Determined to last the winter

posted by mary j. @ 9:32 AM