June 13, 2016 § 4 Comments
Any place we claim as home has, and has not.
The place I claim has squirrels, armadillos, and raccoons, but no giraffes, onagers, or kangaroos.
Trees are a different story.
Our live oaks are burly with spreading limbs. Fingertip to fingertip it takes several of us to hug the tree in my father’s back yard. The oaks are the landscape–every place does something bigger and better than the average. We do trees.
You won’t hear us brag about our climate, which is ninety percent heat, ninety percent humidity. It may not add up but its true. Both settle in for months, refusing to budge. Just when our brains reach a slow simmer, abuzz with heat-induced confusion, a cool breeze blows through, and it is winter.