Or should I say they dewed the spiderwebs.
Except it doesn't sound as good.
Now these someones, the ones who go around frosting or dewing the spiderwebs, whichever you want to call it, depending on whether you're in a literary or literal type of mood...
Are they the same someones who put flyers on my car windshield in the middle of the night?
I don't think so. Two separate job descriptions, those.
On another note, today would have been my Popa Al's 102nd birthday.
In honor of my Popa, who was always kind, I suggest doing something kind today.
Plus, it's the holidays, and people seem to be getting just a tad bit frazzled out there.
Kindness is in order.
I suppose it always is.
Back to the spiderwebs, and the maple tree, their webby home.
When we lived in Berkeley years ago, in life B.C. (Before Children), I would walk the idyllic streets of our neighborhood and think If I ever buy a house in Berkeley, I would want it to have a Japanese maple tree.
Amazingly, when we found our little condo, it came with the most beautiful 40-year-old Japanese maple tree in the patio. We have a tiny bit of outdoor space, and this tree dominates it, which is just fine with me. It is visible from every room of the house except one, and that's just great with me. I love it at every time of year, but right now, the tree is in its full glory.
The leaves at the top, where it gets more sun, are so red it hurts my eyes.
Lower down, the leaves are yellow, and at the back, against our neighbor's house, still green. I don't have a picture to show what I mean, but I love the variation in it. The red of the tree contrasts beautifully with the green-yellow of the bamboo and dark glossy green of the camellia.
I could look at this tree all day, and in fact, I do. I catch flashes of it in the bathroom mirror as I wash my face, from my closet as I put away laundry, from the kitchen as I steam the windows up cooking pasta, from the living room as I play tickle monster with the kids on the floor.
And so this morning, when I saw the decorated spiderwebs, I grabbed my camera, stepped away from the hustle-bustle of getting ready for preschool, walked onto the wet deck in my slippers, breathed in the fog-muffled quiet. I got lost in the branches and those red, red leaves. For a few minutes, the kids did whatever they were doing without me.
We were late for preschool.
It was worth it.