I fancied it might be some kind of magical apple tree - the fruit is red but as it hangs and dries in my warm kitchen it becomes a beautiful vivid orange...then as years pass, to wrinkled dark browns with dried up brittle leaves. I love it at every stage of drying, and every time my eye falls on these lovely branches against the dark purple of my kitchen walls, I am reminded of all the nights I have been out cutting and honoring the sacred things in my life.
So today was my day to go, and I decided to get some pictures of it. I had to laugh when I came back - because although it is still so amazing to me...I find it is an ordinary crabapple of some kind, and seen through the perfection of the camera lens, it is perfectly, beautifully lame. It seems it was always my ritual, my act of cutting it, my feelings of going and doing this thing that manifests as sacred for me. I really love that.
And as crazy as it sounds, sometimes it is this little lame thing that warms my heart and gets me through the night. Can you see the loveliness of this thing?
