Trees and stones.

Most everywhere I turn are trees, ferns, boulders and pebbles.  Some are natural, their growth part of a bigger scheme, set where they are without my input. Outside my office are some planted by landscapers. The birds can’t really tell they are plants native to another continent and willingly build nests to lay eggs. Further down the hill are those next to the stream bank. 

Those ones are planted by birds, squirrels, and seed pods at the end of swirling samaras. Splashed and scattered by a bigger hand.

Others in my life are planted and set by me in the last 30 years.

The plants have grown into their own and taken on a mystique and the stones are now hard set in their clay beds with years of moss built up. Some of the plants were found as three or four year olds, culled by permit from the Cascade forests. Others were chosen knowing they would adapt and thrive.    

They oxygenate the space around them, shade the summer sun and filter the glare from the lower winter sun. The stones, impervious to wear provide the pathways for brief respite.

This is the squirrel’s eye view.

I use it to calm myself.