I’m looking down from my apartment window this sleepy Tuesday morning on a thin sheet of white. My eyelids may only be half open, but my heart warms at the view. I love the white stuff. I love how it settles over a busy, bustling city like New York and seems to soften it, just a bit. Just a notch. Then my eyes wander upward to the tree in my front yard which is suddenly so delightfully unique and I realize that I have never until just this moment stopped to enjoy it. Like most trees this time of year it is without green, its bare branches reaching out in all directions, proud and naked. But this one has small round pods hanging from its limbs. Just smaller than golf-balls, they are affixed to each branch – perfectly – by little invisible strings. It looks to me like mother nature selected this special tree to decorate for herself, covering it in her own delicate, brown ornaments. The tree is an elegant lady with rings on each finger, adorned head to toe with accessories – statuesque and classy.
It took 3 alarms and numerous presses of the snooze button to rouse me this morning. I dreamt of water buffalo.
Seriously, I was in the back yard of a house like the one I grew up in, when outside my window dashed a giant magnificent, wooly creature. Then there was a baby buffalo and a large buffalo. It was moving fast, dashing around. I was mere feet away, awestruck. I think there were other wildlife in the dream – enormous lions, maybe? – but I can’t quite remember. I just remember that I stood mesmerized on the back porch of a quiet house in a quiet neighborhood in the middle of an African safari.
I have no meaning to draw from the snow or the alarms or the water buffalo. All I know is that the call to write was strong in me this morning and I am glad I listened to it.