Last November I cut a bunch of pine and spruce boughs and dogwood branches to decorate for Christmas. I jabbed them into planters on my porch and patio like this:
Then February rolled around and I cut one of those branches out of my outdoor arrangements so I could have a pretty centerpiece with some clay hearts the boys decorated with me. I filled the vase with glass pebbles, but the weight of the clay ornaments made it a little unsteady so I added water. No chance of things tipping over now!
The other day I was working at the table and noticed something I hadn't seen before ...
There's a great metaphor for spring or life or resurrection here. And I could grouse about dogwoods and how they spring up everywhere like weeds--they're like dandelions or thistles and I'm always yanking them out of my garden. I'm tempted to cut some forsythia branches and bring them inside to fill my house with more fresh green buds.
But what strikes me most is this:
If a person (or living thing) is cut off from their environment and gets planted in a new one, growth happens. Change happens. A new beginning.
Spill it, reader. What did you cut off and what grew out of that change?