As we were heading out the door Friday morning, I spotted a garden spider waiting in her web built in one of my crepe myrtles. I enjoy watching these orb-weavers.
Because I let yesterday pass without taking any pictures, I went out-of-my-way today to take a few. I drove outside town to see if the sunflowers were still blooming. The property owner has already transitioned much of his farming area to corn stalks and bean bushes, but there were some flowers remaining. Though most of them are now brown and drooping, I found one patch of pretty flowers.
As I was hiking Sunday afternoon, I glanced up to look at the sky. The clouds had cleared to reveal a robin-egg blue. I was thinking about what a nice day it was when something happened that I never expected: I was struck by the beauty of a pine tree.
Never before had I considered that there might be something lovely to see in a pine tree. Usually, my focus is on the ugly brown needles that pile up in my yard and demand that I dedicate hours of my life to raking and bagging. (Demands I tend to ignore). Or they grab my attention when the wind carries their yellow reproductive dust clouds hither and yon coating everyone I love in an icky residue. How rude. They are, like, the worst trees ever.
For a moment, however, the sight of a singular pine burst made me happy. The uniformity of the needles radiating from the center reminded me of a little pom pom or dandelion instead of a cone-grenade throwing nuisance.