Monday, October 5, 2015

Trees Grow in Thirty Five Years

The trees grown

The farm

The corn stalks.
I changed courses a month ago. I returned to home health with a slightly different focus. I work with younger, disabled patients. The office locates in New Castle, Pennsylvania.
Thirty five years ago, I traveled the road under a different name many times. Then the name was PA 60 and I flew to my nursing school over it. As four lane highways do, large panoramas arose in front of me. An Amish farm showed work horses pulling the plow in the spring, corn growing in the summer and as now, in harvest, the corn stalks crossed into a dry triangle of sorts. In those years, the trees thin and short didn't block the view. Now, I glimpse the corn sheaves between the leaves. I know in just a month, I'll see again easily the farm and the large smoke stack far in the distance out of West Pittsburgh.
Every morning I roll under the bridge of State Route 208 at Pulaski. I remember the clear vista on the other side and now, I see trees. I keep thinking this can be used some way for a post. The farm hasn't changed, it appears. Neighbors, though, have moved in with new shiny houses. More live here as PA 60 turned into I-376, a direct route to Pittsburgh. The area grew into a suburb. Mr. Finney was right, the many years ago when David and I searched for a house. In his real estate office on State Street, he spun the vision of Shenango Valley bustling as people commuted to Pittsburgh.
The area grown some, but not as this realtor saw it. The trees block my sight of the white farm house, with the kerosene lamp glow on early mornings. Yet, in a month, I'm sure I can catch that tranquility as the leaves fall.
I'm glad to be back on the road. Starting in September replays memories of school starting, when I first started home care, twenty three years ago, and the feeling of newness as death stands two months away. September and October mark new season, new fiscal year, new school year and the Jewish New Year, as well as Muslim, I believe.  Clear, crisp days sometimes mixed with damp rainy ones to remind me of the cold to come.
The trees growing so tall and full in these thirty five years remind me that often the familiar routine
comforts, but it is not all the same. Parents gone, kids grown, sisters don't visit as often and friends move away. The seasons roll like my western Pennsylvania hills, the same, yet each one not the same.
I'm happy in this change. The adage, though, even good change is stressful. I had to find my balance and the writing for this blog slithered under a rock for a time. The preparing Outside of Time for publication demanded attention. I realize another deadline will pass, but I'm so much closer than before. I saw the first mock up cover and I love it. The formatting scares me again, but I will approach it tomorrow with freshness.
Even though this is my third book, I haven't formatted, yet. I will conquer this as well. I am excited about this book. I love Amy Wilson so much that I am already planning the sequel. That will be my NaNoWriMo project.
Just as I carry on past the Amish farm every day, I remember the breadth of the view. This month, trees crowd the memory. Like in life, the trees block the view, but they don't change it. My obstacles grow, but the vision on the other side has not altered. I may have to peep around a trunk, but I still see the corn stalks and my writing.
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