They’re tired, these trees. Probably planted when the house was built in 1978.
They long ago lost that first bloom of youth. That abundant flowering come spring.
Their limbs are scraggly. Funky sticks going in all directions. One should not cut down or severely trim crepe myrtles.
I tried that. Thought maybe I could encourage a bushier growth.
It didn’t happen. These wise old trees just did their normal thing. Straight up with spindly branches leading sideways.
They have a lot to contend with. Originally planted too close to the house, some of those branches touch the exterior walls. And the top ones lean across the sloping sun room.
In Florida, with its abundance of bugs of all descriptions, I didn’t want anything touching our house.
They had to come off. Which left the poor trees looking lopsided. Adding to their problems, they stand sentinel on the east side of the house, soaking up the morning sunshine. This side, though, is where the hurricane strength winds usually come from.
I tried naming them. Failed. Open to suggestions, I am!
They are my morning company, being right outside the window where I sit writing in the morning.
I’ve watched them these last weeks.
The flowers long gone. A few yellowing leaves still holding on for dear life.
Every morning there are a few less leaves.
I watch as a breeze goes by. A tiny leaf, persistent to the last, clings to its comfort zone.
Going, going, gone.
Reluctantly it makes its way down to the grass.
And my wise old crepe myrtles teach me another lesson.
It’s these little sins that I so persistently cling to. I won’t let go.
But I won’t grow in abundant new flowers unless I do.
I need to let go to make room for new growth.
Photo by Huy Le on Pexels.