|Idris Akdal, by ucmorlale|
You are never too old to set another goal
or to dream a new dream.
-C. S. Lewis
A friend admired the bushiness of the one I made this year, the way branches jutted every which way. I told her that this was how I write, first going for broke, leaving the clipping for later. I let the colors of the spruce and hemlock suggest whether they want red ribbon, holly berries, pale dried grasses, or a glittery band of stars.
My friend worried that the stuff on her leaner wreath would blow away.
Peter, whose wreath was enormous, said, "That's what's supposed to happen."
The world is windy. Dried grasses or blooms fall off, like memories or extraneous facts. But the green circle holds for a while.
|Autumn into Winter, by Sabine Rich (c) 2011|