Driving past the yard of my old house, I’d swear it wasn’t there. The old cottonwood trees towering over the house and lawn appear lush and full all spring, summer, and fall. In the winter, it’s indiscernible among all the bare, lifeless-looking branches. But, if I crane my neck way back walking underneath those trees to the back door or pull up a lawn chair and gaze into the branches on a lazy afternoon, I see it. There, and over there, and way up high – dead wood. Sharp, leafless sticks among healthy, leafy limbs.
Dead wood spoils my view when I admire those tall stately trees. It litters the yard with limbs after a strong wind passes through. And it dents cars unlucky enough to be parked in the driveway when a branch crashes down. We ignore dead wood to our detriment.
My husband, after another morning spent…
View original post 428 more words