On impermanance
I was out fixing irrigation around the front tree. I found old parts of the irrigation system tightly wound around the tree. They haven’t been seen since the tree was first planted when the house was first built. It was about 3 inches wide when she was first planted. Since then, the tree has thrived and been through tornado warnings, deep freezes, and many Christmases: over ten years of them.
Cassie was sitting next to me in this picture. Laying next to me, rather. She laid her head on the ground, moving it around to smell the leaves that have fallen from the tree. What was she smelling exactly? Was that smell like what humans smell? Or was it something more powerful? Clearly, she was interested.
I worry about the tree. I don’t want my repairs to harm the tree.
As I record this, I also wonder if there is wisdom in writing it down? Should I just savor this moment rather than documenting it? Do we pay too much attention to the mechanics and too little attention to the process?
I began this plumbing adventure intent on fixing. But, my intention changed. I wanted something else entirely. I want the tree to live and thrive and to be there many years from now for families in our home and neighborhood. I’m of an age where my impermanence concerns me. I feel at this moment less concerned about myself and the future and more concerned about those who follow.