Vader's Tree

Winter Tree with Nest I admit it, I've been pretty wiped out lately. I love Christmas, but with Christmas cards, parties, deadlines, scrapbooks, etc. etc. I seem to find myself sick by season's end. It has been hard to keep up with the blog. Almost all the writers I know define themselves as writers by saying they have to write. Problem is that's all I've been doing -- writing Christmas letters, writing articles, writing scrapbook captions, by the time I get to the blog I have a serious case of writer's block. Sometimes I know what I want to write about but my head is spinning and with this cold, it's just been plain stuffy. Plus, try writing something creative after you've worked all day mapping out an article on appraisers. So, I've posted Christmas cards and photos, waiting for my battery to recharge.

I've found sometimes that the best way to write an article that I am struggling with is to try doing something else. So, to re-energize I've been playing with my new Lensbaby lens. Friday, before the sore throat got too bad, I went outside and played in the snow with my nephew and his girlfriend taking pictures. I looked up at the tree in the front yard and saw this nest. I've been seeing a lot of nests this season and have even written about it here. Perhaps it's because the trees have been bare so long without snow, though there is plenty of snow now. I love nests. If you look at them closely, you can see the resourcefulness of their makers -- I have seen some garnished with plastic shopping bags and caution tape. The birds that make them are survivors, creating homes from sticks and straw, garbage and dirt. They speak of comfort, home, nurturing, and hard work.

This nest was in Vader's tree, the tree I look him to sit under before he died. Back then, in June, it was leafy and green, a wonderful canopy of life above our heads. The sun shone through the leaves, white, dazzling, beautiful. This tree is bare, the sun hidden behind the cold, blue winter sky. But there in what appears to be a blustery winter scene sits this nest, a testament to life. And, despite the cold and the stress, the deadlines and the writer's block, I rise up to embrace it.