too much of too much: the end of an era

Saturday, October 18, 2014

We returned from a day in New Hope with friends to discover that the trumpetvine my father had planted for me years ago, after my mother passed away, had finally twisted away from the house and fallen still. This was my hummingbird bush, the cover I took on summer days. This was the heart of my memoir, Nest. Flight. Sky. This was where the world could not find me. The world couldn't. The birds did.

The bush wrenched away from itself, urged by either wind or squirrel.

It was depleted, and I understand, for I am depleted, too. Too much of too much and so much more to go, and this must be how my trumpetvine felt—it had survived enough storms. It can give cover no more.

But how I will miss my hummingbirds.


Jennifer R. Hubbard said...

Farewell, gratitude, and sad sighs for the trumpet vine!

Melissa Sarno said...

Oh no :( So sorry Beth.

Sarah Laurence said...

Sorry about the trumpet vine but it's good that you are re-evaluating the pace of your life. You can plant flowering perennials (our hummingbirds love the azaleas) or use a sugar feeder for the humming birds.

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