I am participating in the
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing
every day for the month of March 2021.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!
It was as if the butterfly bush was begging me to prune it,
almost screeching its needs,
with its wild branches blowing this way and that,
smacking up against the side of the porch,
dropping worn, old, brown plant crumbs all over the porch furniture,
entangling with the ornamental grass (you're next on the chopping block, buddy!), and
basically picking a fight with the shrub on its other side.
(Hmm, what's the name of that shrub? I don't know . . . .)
I was also screeching inside,
overcome with frustration from several small glitches in my day
that seemed to be changing my mood,
moving me into anxious and hurt -
a frustrating email (did you have to use that tone?),
an annoying zoom session (why wasn't I told this a month ago?), and
a text that made it loud and clear, my preceding texts were never read
just glossed over,
I should have just texted the butterfly bush.
I put on my gardening gloves.
I got out the hedge clippers and the small pruning shears.
I dragged a large empty yard recycling barrel into position.
I started chopping, thinning, cutting, breaking, splitting, trimming, clipping, shaping, pruning, imagining.
I found each long leggy limb,
growing in at least three additional directions,
requiring my entire focus, and soon
filling, swelling, overflowing the barrel,
requiring me to slow down and
push, squeeze, weave the trimmed branches into gaps,
tighter, tighter, tighter
making each piece fit
making space in the crush of twigs
making room where there once was none
all the while struggling against the wind,
this blustery day,
I arrived in
another time and space
where I was smiling.
Who knew trimming a butterfly bush would be a catalyst for time travel?
"any wisdom that exists, exists in what we already have."
- Pema Chodron