Thanksgiving day spent solo as P drove back to spend with family. When you know a day is supposed to be special, there is a bit of pressure to experience
something unique. As I was daydreaming out my kitchen window in the morn, which is a daily ritual while waiting for my almond milk to heat for the coffee, I began fixating on the backyard tree. How alone it is out there, almost imprisoned between the buildings. I wonder if it talks to the neighboring trees underground. I wonder if it feels appreciated, or feels anything at all. As I kept focusing on it, it seemed to become taller and taller. I had to crook my neck to see the top. I remember when the crew of Mexican tree-cutters came and trimmed all its branches after a storm broke off a giant limb that fell on my downstairs neighbor's patio furniture. How long has it stood here? What was it like as a small tree? Were the fences erected sometime years later? I suddenly felt such deep respect and gratitude for this perennial giant full of stoic wisdom.
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| All of these questions after a brownie bite and latte. |
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| This gratitude was all I needed in order to later make and enjoy this slow simmered ragu sauce over perfectly al dente spaghetti noodles. |
