I Find My Heart in the Trees

Diary of a week

Monday, February 26

The temperature dropped 50° in a handful of hours. A wall of warring clouds stormed across the horizon. Snow blew sideways with the wind. In the kitchen, I lit a candle, chopped an onion, minced some garlic, put it in a pot with water and white beans. I dunked the Christmas ham bone underneath it all. I shook some salt, cracked some pepper, then, and left it to slowly burble under the lid for hours.

Tuesday, February 27

It was the color that we’d quietly repeated throughout the house - in the mudroom tile, the reupholstered mid-century living room chair, the antique wool rug in the entry, and now in the last throw pillow. Terra cotta, the color of clay pots, red dirt, and old bricks. I zipped the linen cover closed over the down insert and plumped it up. Here it was, finished at last, the final soft thing to place in that beautiful Montana house.

Wednesday, February 28

I’ve decided on snowball bushes. I’ve no idea if it’ll work, but why not try? I’ll move those three wine barrels that’ve been parked under the big spruce tree and place them at intervals on the southeast side of the house, right there in the wide flowerbed. I’ll cut their tops out, fill them with a good soil mix, and plant a snowball bush in each. For height and interest and simulated trees.

Thursday, February 29

If you look closely, you’ll see it. In the jumble of naked cottonwoods at the eastern horizon, you’ll see a perfect heart shape formed by the branches. Every morning, pinks, peaches, and yellows wash the sky behind it. I sit on the sofa with my first cup steaming, look out the window, find my heart in the trees, and watch the sunrise.

Friday, March 1

The forecast said to pack my weekender with things for windy, rainy weather at the place the road would lead us to a hundred miles away. So, I grabbed the layers, the boots, the umbrella.

My heart said to pack my garden journal and my crochet bag with the lavender skein of yarn and the half-finished scarf inside. So I did that, too.

Saturday, March 2

We didn’t get very far before turning back. Back home to our sweet little house. When we walked in the door, drooped and disappointed, it welcomed us, tucked us in with a cup of tea. Lamplight glowed softly from the corner of the kitchen, and the amaryllis bloomed at the window. Outside, the spitty rain turned to snow. Turns out, when road trip plans fold back on themselves, all you really want is to be home.