Last Yule, I decided I wanted a real tree. Not like a cut tree but an actual living tree. So we got one. It was a bit of an impulse buy from a supermarket so probably not the highest quality tree in the world, but I fell in love with it, sitting there wrapped in net, looking tired and worn out. I couldn’t go home without it. Because it was so small, it sat on a shelf instead of on the floor, and I decorated it with tiny white fairy lights. I watered it and talked to it (yeah, I talk to plants, shut up) and it started to show new growth.
Then we repotted it into a bigger pot and moved it outside…and it started to look SICK. My husband, who has always had some weird kind of plant magic in his soul and fingers, kept saying it was going to be fine, it was just adjusting to being outdoors and not to worry. I gave up hoping that it would get better and kept waiting for it to die. I didn’t even want to look at it because it made me so sad.
Then today I saw it had new growth again! The top has dried up, but the rest of it is still green and new little brighter green bits have started to appear. I honestly nearly cried. I’m so attached to that tree. It sat beside me through a couple of really rough months, when I wasn’t sure where I was headed or what I needed to do. It was there when I struggled to let go of things, and people, that had hurt me, and when I decided to finally dedicate myself to writing after years of wanting to but not having the guts to do it.
I have some weird spiritual stuff happening at the moment which isn’t clear enough to put into words, at least not in public, and finding signs of life in something I cared about but had already resigned myself to having lost is kind of perfect right now.
I realise I haven’t mentioned Camp NaNoWriMo since the month began, so here’s the world’s quickest update – I’m at 11,267 words of my 20,000 word goal and have found some awesome new writers to follow through the #CampNaNoWriMo tag on Twitter 🙂