So, Atlanta is dear to my heart. It's not just the place I've passed the last ten years, its my home. One of the things I love about Atlanta is that, although its a big city, it still has trees. Anyone whose spent a length of time in a major metro area understands what I'm talking about. We may not see stars, but we see green!
And today as I sit, surrounded by the cheerful red walls of Borders' cafe, and gaze out the window (because I ought to be writing a report for work), the first thing I noticed was the high rise condos that loom black and stalwart behind the EFIS and glass of the mall. (Note: EFIS is fake stucco. It's flammable. My job makes me think like this.)
Then my gaze wanders to the right and snags upon the delicate boughs of trees not yet dressed for the sunshine. I love the image of their naked, delicate limbs fanned like lace across the sky. It makes me get all contemplative, about how something with such a fragile beauty is actually mighty and old, how the tender parts are kept high and safe, and how even when coated in an array of greenery, lovely in its own right, the lacework is still underneath, hidden from the hot summer sun until the winter light shines again. It makes me wish I could hold it in my palm, or make my home just underneath, so each time I looked up, I'd get to see the stark contrast of fine black against a wash of silver-blue.
Thank you God for the little pretties in the world, for the way trees are trees whether I notice them or not, and for the imprint of something deeper than the visible that they leave on my memory.