forgetting the way back

March 16, 2007 | Filed Under ordinary 

it started to rain last night as i was trying to fall asleep. we’ve had the windows open for the last few days, the curtains breathing in and out over the beds, my head, the nightstand, the half read copy of watership down, the basket of matchbox cars. the laundry room windows bring the green grass scent into the house speedily, almost fast enough to make me forget that most of our yard is gray with gravel and sand, red with carolina dust. no plants. no one planted anything near to the house. in a way, the emptiness and dust are a relief — nothing hideous to yank out from its white roots and toss into the pile of leaves and onion grass. and at the same time, it’s too bad that plants cost money and that they take time to grow and hide the indiscretions of the yard.

as i try to sleep i talk to ernie about things that he says should be putting me to sleep immediately. he doesn’t obsess over things in the way that i do, nor does he obsess over the same kinds of things that i do. he doesn’t spend as much time looking at the dust and gravel and the dinginess of the shed to develop improvement obsessions.  it’s clear that i need to do more in the day.

martha stewart understands, or at least the current editors of her magazine understand. and the tree people of the arbor day foundation understand as they offer the hard refuse membership gift of ten free trees that should be sent to us soon. sometimes it’s amazing what ten dollars will buy (do it!). of course, i’m a little scared about the size of these trees since the trees were free and the shipping was free. i have seen tiny redbud trees before, after all, grown up from wind and rain and sun in a place that they didn’t belong, small, but green and healthy. i imagine a dogwooded bonsai-sized infant tree greeting me at the door (in orphan on the church-step fashion) and nine others smiling in a line behind. nonetheless, i’m obsessed with the idea and the day of arrival, the locations for planting, the anticipation of their branches reaching for stars and sun and wind and bird in flight.

the gray rain still falls and the dust has turned to puddles where the raindrops fall in great plunks to look like bubbles from my position at the window. the daffodils are all but done blooming. spring is here and there, the sun is shiny and bright most days. i don’t feel springiness myself, driving down wade hampton and north pleasantburg in broad daylight depresses me.  at night the sky is clear and the lights of the traffic glimmer and seem clean and silent.  the drear of the rain is more alive than the blaze of sun on metal and concrete and i am glad of it today, noticing for the first time the brightness of yellow and green on the hydrant at the curb across the street and the purple weed of flower sprawling out across the front grass.

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