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Author: Anne Cassidy

Tunnel of Trees

Tunnel of Trees

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In the great cycle of seasons, topics announce themselves with some regularity. Every year at this time (if not earlier), I notice the steady progression of leaf and bough, how the trees on one side of the road lean in, reach over and touch the trees on the other side.

The result of this mutual growth and attraction is a tunnel of trees, surely one of nature’s most subtly beautiful offerings.

Why is it so magical? I think about this when I’m driving down Fox Mill or Vale or (when in Kentucky) Pisgah Pike outside Lexington.

Do the lofty boughs remind me of a cathedral? Or is the appeal from the coziness, the impenetrability, of a cavern built of leaf and shade?

There’s no explanation, of course. It’s beauty plain and simple.
 

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by tom8yours

Door, Wall and Flower

Door, Wall and Flower

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Art imitates life imitates art. The door bedecked with flowers, a variety of hydrangea, I think, larger and more open-petaled than the usual. The wall decorated with wisteria — and a bicycle, in case you get tired of walking.

To walk in an old city is to stop often to photograph buildings. It makes for a halting step but a full camera (phone?) upon return.

It’s more than worth the trip.

Perspective

Perspective

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A view from on high. It’s what we get from airplanes, towers, mountaintops, rooftops and other lofty places. It’s perspective. Our world grows smaller when measured against the immensity.

It’s a necessary corrective, an antidote to most craziness. It can also be lots of fun.

Today the indoor parakeets are spending some time outside with me as I work. To say they are excited is putting it mildly. They haven’t shut up since I brought them out here. A moment ago a baby bird landed on the table beside me, attracted by the exotic chirps of these unfamiliar creatures.  A change of scenery for them, too, that of the wild beside the tame.

What has the birds so excited? The same thing I’ve been treasuring recently — perspective.

Flowery Bower

Flowery Bower

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So far so good in this hard-fought battle between deer and day lily. A battle in which the day lily does nothing except bloom and be beautiful. A battle waged by the human on the day lily’s behalf. A human with a spray can of Invisible Fence.

Let us now praise the human and the spray can. Let us now praise the beauty that is the result.

It’s midsummer. The rain has stopped. The lilles are blooming. It’s a flowery bower.

In Miniature

In Miniature

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A view of the Capitol Fireworks I’d never seen before, from across the Potomac and down a few miles. The fireworks in miniature but just as splendid.

The spectators were a mini United Nations; they spoke Spanish, Arabic, Chinese, Tagalog (maybe). Babies toddled, parents chased, teenagers stared not at the sky but at their phones. Some people sat on blankets, others on the grass. Some had packed elaborate spreads, but more had simply wandered over with a snack and a soda.

Like the fireworks, the venue was a miniature, a snapshot of our country now.

The Fourth in History

The Fourth in History

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I know at least two re-enactors at Gettysburg this week, one fighting for the North and one for the South. And I remember the school trips each of the girls took to the battlefield in sixth grade, playing out roles in their own Picketts’ Charge.

There’s a battlefield site minutes from here where another battle was fought, the Battle of Ox Hill (or the Union name, the Battle of Chantilly) and I think I’ll go there today. It’s a place I’ve passed several hundred times and always meant to see. It’s tucked between malls, hidden in plain sight, a bit of history almost buried by modern life.

But it’s still there, not quite five acres. And visiting it seems like a good way to celebrate the day, here in the Old Dominion.

What To Do When It Rains

What To Do When It Rains

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Conked out to rain, woke up to rain. Rain on the weekend, on Monday, Tuesday, now Wednesday. Dodging the drops to take a walk. Today if there’s a break I’ll be outside again.

Meanwhile, morning arrives gray and soggy. It’s a good day to clean the basement, sort through old files. Only that’s not what I want to be doing on July 3!

Tomorrow will be better, they say. Until then, I pile the books beside me. Four from the library yesterday and another, electronic one I couldn’t find in hard copy. That’s the one I’m reading now.

I’m in war-worn Berlin, riding the U-bahn, hungry, cold and afraid. Is it raining? Is it dry? Who cares?

Bird Land

Bird Land

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New bird feeders have turned our back yard into an avian paradise. Goldfinches flit from branch to seeds, sometimes posing on top of the tomato cage, a perfect perch.

This morning I watched a female hummingbird for what seemed like hours but was only minutes, long enough for her to dart in and out, sipping nectar with each rush to the feeder.

And as I write these words a pileated woodpecker nibbles at a peanut butter block.

Birds catch on quickly. They have passed on word about the chow here. It’s good, you ought to try it. And with the living room couch still turned south I have a, well, bird’s eye view of all the goings on.

Parakeets in the house, and sparrows, robins, cardinals, jays, finches, woodpeckers, chickadees and hummingbirds outside.

It’s Bird Land, for sure.

July Morning

July Morning

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This time last year we’d had plenty of heat advisories plus a derecho. This year it’s been cool and soggy. I haven’t watered the plants once!

But the humidity is building and mornings hold that familiar sigh of longing, as if they know what’s coming and are reluctant to let go of their coolness.

They, like us, know that July is finally here.

First Cup

First Cup

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Other blog post ideas were bobbing through my brain until a few seconds ago when they all flew away. Now all that remains is this, the first cup. Always the best.

For many it’s coffee; for me, it’s tea.

I’ve pondered this for years, why the first cup of the tea in the morning is the most delicious and soul-affirming. Because it has been more than 20 hours since the last? Because the tea is at its hottest when the pot is full?

Or is it something more universal, not just first cups of tea but first anythings? In this case, however, the novelty is long gone. Instead it is part anticipation, part vivid reminder. Here is what warm liquid feels like on the tongue, the throat. Here is what caffeine does to the waking brain. Here is morning again, much more tolerable.

Today I’m drinking tea from the largest mug I have. So the first cup lasts twice as long.