Locust Tree

This is a recent shot of Queens Creek as seen through a locust tree in my back yard. My whole life I've hated this tree, mainly because it drops branches that are riddled with thorns, and I am usually barefoot. Barefooted. Barefeeted. I rarely wear shoes.

(Sometimes I exhaust myself with my own ridiculosity. Ridiculousness. Inane, unnecessary, unrelated rambling thoughts. This happens to be one of those occasions. My apologies in advance for whatever you're about to barely tolerate read; taking a blog break does not appear to have been good for my functioning brain cell.)

Anywho, this tree and I have not been nice to each other over the years. For example, when Hurricane Isabel came through here a while back, I was praying for Mother Nature to please spare the beautiful sycamore tree that was growing along the shoreline to the left of Mr. Locust. In return, I would happily offer up and sacrifice this locust tree as a token of my gratitude. But once again the Chesapeake Bay Woman Luck prevailed, and my gorgeous, beautiful, statuesque sycamore tree came crashing to its death while Mr. Locust stood haughty and proud, snickering and pointing his thorny fingers at me when I came to survey the dreadful scene.

So it came to be that the locust was the remaining tree adorning the shoreline. Over time, the more I stared and scowled at it, the more I liked it, especially at sunset when the last rays of light bounce off it like in the photo above. We've come to an understanding, the thorny tree and I. No longer do I view it with hatred and disgust; I am resigned to looking at its good features.

This is a long way of building up to how I feel about the end of summer. I've been dreading September and Back to School and Busy Time at Work and Sports Schedules and Endless Chauffeuring of Kids, but now that the time is upon us I'm starting to think of the locust tree; of how I hated it but now love it. Nothing changed about that tree except the way I look at it.

So I will try to focus on the good features of fall: the brisk September evenings; the smell of burning dinner leaves; Saturdays in sweatshirts on the sidelines of soccer games; and the end of ant season lawn mower's hibernation until next spring.

On the flip side, though, don't ask me to be positive about the shorter days and the longer periods of darkness.

That's like asking me to be jubilant after stepping on the thorns of Mr. Locust Tree.

Barefoot. Barefooted. Without shoes.