This is a current picture of the tree from my usual vantage point.
This is if I stand on tiptoe and stretch my arms as far as they will go, which is … not that far. (Thanks for the T-Rex genes, Dad.)
And because I am too
risk-averse lazy to drag a ladder or something out into the field, this is as good as it gets for now.
I waited tables the summer after my sophomore year of college, a rank newbie. “Can you take that app to table 14?” my coworker said, over her shoulder. “I’m in the weeds.” I’d never heard the phrase before, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. I took the potato skins out to the table and filed the phrase away, knowing I’d need it someday.
I know I’ve been quiet. I have been in the weeds. Sometimes, if I stand on my tiptoes and stretch as far as I am able, I can see the top of a tree, and I know it’s still there, waiting. The weeds will fall, eventually, and I’ll still be here.
Just wanted to let you know. Dormant over here. But not gone.