Two trees grow in the back yard, the very mature over 50 years old maple, and a smaller upstart mulberry. I neglected the back garden while Larry was ill, the ground nest of yellowjackets was no help. I am playing catch up before the snow falls.
While the maple is still holding the majority of its leaves, the mulberry has dropped all hers. These are thick, heavy leaves which will kill the grass. I was pretty distraught as I cannot handle the lawn mower to get them up, and the Toro leaf sucker/mulcher bag is broken. No way I could rake all that. The flowerbeds and garden are buried too.
While the maple is still holding the majority of its leaves, the mulberry has dropped all hers. These are thick, heavy leaves which will kill the grass. I was pretty distraught as I cannot handle the lawn mower to get them up, and the Toro leaf sucker/mulcher bag is broken. No way I could rake all that. The flowerbeds and garden are buried too.
I hate that tree.
So Sunday morning, I decide to get the rose bushes done. Now it is cold in the mornings, so I put on one of Larry's yard work jackets. Gray Belgium Army surplus things.
First I took the dead morning glory vines off the carriage lamp. Tossed the ones from last year which never got sorted for seeds. Trimmed the roses back, cut up the burlap and wrapped the base of the bushes. Probably not well enough, but better than nothing. I sat on the ground and started pulling bindweed, and then began sobbing. There's so much to do, and I have so little energy and so much pain.
First I took the dead morning glory vines off the carriage lamp. Tossed the ones from last year which never got sorted for seeds. Trimmed the roses back, cut up the burlap and wrapped the base of the bushes. Probably not well enough, but better than nothing. I sat on the ground and started pulling bindweed, and then began sobbing. There's so much to do, and I have so little energy and so much pain.
Then, I get a message from a friend. She is worried, moved to get up and dressed, because she feels MyLarry is urging her. Something about an umbrella, rain, and a storm is coming. This thought will not leave her alone. Well, he was sort of dyslexic, and mulberry and umbrella translate into coverings visually and share letters. I had a lunch date with other friends, for Veterans Day, but she still came over and handled the leaves for me. Mowed the crap outta them. She took a few things things too, more sleeping bags, a pair of Larry's muck boots, and the old Arabic grain measures which had been in my parents kitchen. Those are near a hundred years old or more.
Now I do not really believe in an afterlife, but Larry's presence is still here, and still moving people and the environment around me. It is strange, and weird, and probably my imagination, but wonderful and comforting. I am beginning to get why some people believe.
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