Peak Bloom
Lynda DeWitt
The dog and I squeeze onto the edge
of my neighbor's unfinished front porch.
A stack of limestone slabs, scrap lumber,
bags of concrete, and a table saw fill most
of the space. My neighbor's a carpenter
and the porch is just one of his many
unfinished projects. Another is a huge hole
dug five years ago in the backyard for an addition.
Of course, I have my own unfinished business.
It’s mid-May, and I’ve come again to spend time
beneath peak bloom of an old cherry tree in the
carpenter’s front yard. Hundreds of branches,
covered in bouquets, create an irresistible
pink canopy that turns the afternoon light rosy
and calms my mind’s restless churnings.
I have decisions to make and promises to keep.
The cherry tree has no unfinished business. Year
after year, it completes its work, and peak bloom,
like the last note in a symphony, reminds me --
and maybe the carpenter — of the beauty of
completion. The satisfaction of done.
Lynda DeWitt
The dog and I squeeze onto the edge
of my neighbor's unfinished front porch.
A stack of limestone slabs, scrap lumber,
bags of concrete, and a table saw fill most
of the space. My neighbor's a carpenter
and the porch is just one of his many
unfinished projects. Another is a huge hole
dug five years ago in the backyard for an addition.
Of course, I have my own unfinished business.
It’s mid-May, and I’ve come again to spend time
beneath peak bloom of an old cherry tree in the
carpenter’s front yard. Hundreds of branches,
covered in bouquets, create an irresistible
pink canopy that turns the afternoon light rosy
and calms my mind’s restless churnings.
I have decisions to make and promises to keep.
The cherry tree has no unfinished business. Year
after year, it completes its work, and peak bloom,
like the last note in a symphony, reminds me --
and maybe the carpenter — of the beauty of
completion. The satisfaction of done.