Walking in January, I praise what is absent. Usually lined with sweet gum trees — a canopy of broad green leaves in summer, large golden leaves in autumn–in January not a stubborn leaf remains on a tree. It is as if this part of Capitol Hill did a thorough house cleaning, stripping each tree, but for the brownish gray branches. They reach outwards and upwards, a tangle of geometric limbs, reminding me of Nature’s architecture. Each limb seems to have purpose as a balance for another on the other side, or an extension from which thinner branches reach out like tendrils to the sun. Rather than admire a shower of leaves, I note the rounded burls up the trunk, like moss-covered hats. Thick moss paints itself between heavy limbs that decided to make their own way from a massive trunk. On this twenty-seven-degree day, surely insects must snuggle in the soft moss. Grateful for the absence of leaves, I see high in some trees, baskets of crazily assembled twigs and grasses. Perhaps they are nests for squirrels cleverly camouflaged in other seasons, but out there now vulnerable to winter’s wind.
In the absence of abundance, I look for things to note, as if I were in a museum where the major exhibition is closed, and so I take time to view a few treasures I had ignored on other visits. Last week, a wooded walk on Hood Canal revealed a giant stuffed bear attached to a tree. This morning, it is the angle of the sun on my neighbor’s door. Although the solstice has passed, and each day may be a bit longer, it is as if the sun barely creeps over the horizon, casting long shadows even at 11:00 AM. Today the light captured my neighbor’s front door where a Christmas wreath still hangs, a deep black-green circle with a velvet red bow. Shadows from surrounding leafless trees dance around the wreath.
Granted this is a sunny day, uncommon in the Pacific Northwest winter, so sun and shadows grab my attention. But rain or shine, there is interesting stuff dropped on parking strips and sidewalks. A gigantic pine tree on the corner drops pinecones as large as ten inches long and three inches wide. They lie atop a bed of thin dry needles. Surely they would be a treasure if I imagined a creative use for them. A friend celebrated Christmas by gathering large cones and stuffing them with suet and peanut butter, then hanging the cones around a park adjacent to her home. She said her project was her gift to the many birds that winter-over in the woods.
Walking through Volunteer Park, I note park benches and picnic tables without people enjoying them. In summer they would be full. There is something poignant about an empty park bench. Is it waiting to be occupied? Does it hold a memory of a couple resting there in June, holding hands, planning their future together? And the playground, too cold for children today. Iron poles chill a child’s hands. I recall those warnings we shared in childhood about not putting your tongue on a frozen iron pole, then daring a kid to do it, but fearing consequences if the child accepts the dare. The playground also remains in Waiting mode.
Perhaps it is waiting that defines January. There is no definitive Christmas on the horizon. Even spring is far off, so waiting becomes waiting for what? Yesterday my mailbox had three seed catalogs, each with a colorful cover of abundance: golden carrots, blushing tomatoes, leafy lettuce. If I fill out the order sheet, will my garden be ready any sooner? In my backyard, I walk past raised beds where today skeletons of tomato and pepper plants droop, bowing in submission to the freeze. There too, a kind of beauty in the plants without fruit.
At noon, I took a walk with my grandson to have a good, long visit before he returns to New York after his semester break. As we walked along Prospect Street, an historic avenue of old Seattle wealth and mature maples, I shared with him my attraction to leafless trees. “Sure, Nana,” he agreed. I have a leafless tree outside my New York apartment. I love it in November when the last leaves drop. Inside, I have more light.” That’s it! In a month when daylight only lasts seven or eight hours at best, we can feel as if we are deprived. Yet a tree’s bare branches let the light shine through.
Mary's Room With a View 