Port de Bras

My favorite tree lives in the RV parking lot. 

It's twisted and gnarled from years of reaching towards 

the light and bending with the wind.

Over the years, I've gotten into the habit of paying it a visit

whenever I walked that direction 

to make sure it's still standing. 

This summer, the Speedway's

maintenance people decided to trim the tree's

most twisted limb, one that it held like a dancer

twirling across the floor. While necessary, I was nonetheless 

sad to see it go because it gave the tree an expression of 

grace that is only acquired through experience. 

This little collection of birdhouses

lives on a neighborhood porch that the 

homeowner has given the feel of an outdoor living room.

While one side has been curtained for privacy it doesn't

close off the world. The curtain both softens 

the afternoon light and catches the breezes

I Like Pink

This tree seduces me every year. It blooms as though dressed for a party, decidedly out of place in this decidedly working class town. 

Its flowers look like pink corsages decorating a Belle Epoch evening gown. House of Worth, maybe? I can definitely imagine someone 

like Jenny Churchill making a grand entrance 

dressed in green silk organza with garlands 

of pink lacy tendrils and crystals lighting it up. 

Take another look at another time and the tree seems prehistoric, 

as if from a scene in "Jurassic Park." The first time I saw this kind of tree 

was on a corner near my workplace. 

I passed it every spring and always took its picture. 

I hadn't seen another until 

I found this one a couple weeks ago. 

I still prefer to imagine it as a dress, though.

I dealt with enough dinosaurs at work.


I looked at my post this morning to find
that one of the pictures had not been included.
It is now, and thank you, Dive, for reminding me 
that it is, indeed, a mimosa.