I've been getting outside on nice days this January. To prune. Three apple trees right in a row: Golden, Gravenstein, and Granny. Then a Cherry, two Walnuts, and the Tulip tree whose name eludes me right now. There are miscellaneous bushes between these, too.
The big pine I can't get at--I must leave it to the professionals.
Last year these trees and bushes were neglected--being eight months pregnant limited my ability and energy.
How much happens in a year...death, life, joy, and sorrow intermingle like branches twisting and scratching each other, clinging and supporting.
And so I write. A first line, post, offering. To the One and for the One--Jesus Christ--Whom I've given my life to. Will You clean me up? Trim away the useless, dead, confused, tangled places in me? Will You cleanse me with hyssop; wash me so I will be whiter than snow?
Maybe use this little speck of cyberspace to accomplish a good pruning in me?
For Your glory,