Belief

I see him in the winter garden, when the days are cold and damp.

On windless afternoons, when the sun is low in a pale sky and the bare branches overhead shelter squirrels deep in their nests.

On silent days, when the birdbaths go unvisited, and the sight of a small red cardinal in the azaleas lifts the spirit.

He stands most often near the evergreens, his face a smoky tone.  His hair is thin, combed back from his forehead.  His shirt and trousers are wrinkled, a nondescript blue or gray.  Although he never wears a coat, he never seems cold as he stands quietly, his hands in his pockets.

I see him at the periphery of my vision.  When I turn my face to the shrubbery for a clear look, he hides his face and moves away.   

There are many who would say that he is not really standing there, that he is a figment of my delusionation.

And I would not argue the point, although I know that he stands there. Often.

Waiting to be perceived, to be sensed, yet not wanting to be recognized,

Suggesting that in seeing, knowing and believing, there are many circumstances that resist explanation.  If only we could acknowledge them, even to ourselves.

Red and gold

The days are clear and warm, and the nights are cold.  The garden is full of color.

Dogwoods provide flowers in spring, fruit in autumn and beautiful fall color.  The one above and below has a beautiful form, but has developed a canker, a widening wound, and will live only a few more seasons.   

The dogwood tree below was supposed to bloom white in spring, to set off the red leaves of the Japanese maple.  It turned out to be a deep pink, a disappointment in spring.  But in autumn, the color is magnificent.

The serviceberry below is named "Cole's Select."  

A week later, the serviceberry is golden and looks beautiful near the dogwood.

A baby hickory planted itself at the base of an oak. 

The sourwood tree in the back yard is colorful every year.

I planted the wafer ash to attract butterfly caterpillars.  No wafers and no butterflies, but the golden color in autumn is striking with the red of this oak.  

Time to find the rake.  The stone pathway will soon be covered in leaves.