We were out at my mom-in-law’s house this weekend. Four generations just loving on one another.
A country singer would have a Top 100 single. I don’t know much about Country music, but I think this song would include a high school romance, whirlwind courtship, wedding day dance, affair, a couple kids, failed counseling, and a house fire.
A celebrity would go viral from posting it to Instagram with the caption #tree #trees #weirdtree #treesofinstagram #branchesofinstagram #foundthistreewheniwastakingabreakfromfilming #wedonthavetreeswhereilive #alltreesmatter #nofilter…or something along those lines.
When I saw the branches, I thought, “This belongs in a short story. Or a poem. But I could never write it.” Why I immediately thought this branch deserved better than me is a sad commentary on my opinion of myself. I’ve never written a short story. But that doesn’t mean I can’t. Maybe I’ll write one about that tree. About this branch. About the pond it shaded. Or possibly a poem. Maybe I’ll channel Frost and pen a few beautiful stanzas about this set of gnarled and entwined branches.
Or maybe I will just post it to Instagram and tag it #ThisBranchDeservesMoreThanHashtags and call it a day.