I awoke Saturday morning to the sounds of thunder, lightning, and rain. My first thought was “Oh no! My tree is out in the rain!” Then I chuckled to myself and went back to sleep. Of course “my tree” is out in the rain. Trees like rain, and it takes Mother Nature a long time to destroy acrylic yarn. When I next opened my eyes, the sun was shining and birds were singing, and I once again thought of my tree out in the sun being happy and looked upon by the young people flooding the university campus that day. It’s weird how I seem to have developed an attachment to that knitting-covered tree, but I have. Every time it crosses my mind, which is often, I find myself smiling to know that it is there and I am here and somehow … we are connected.
Thursday looks like it’s going to be a lovely day, so I plan to make the trek downtown to the Blanton to take photos of the installation (and of my tree) with a proper camera. There were so many clever, creative, unique, and down-right awesome trees, and I want to have photos to remember them by in my old age. Mine too, though I think it’s possible my tree is only awesome to me. For as much thought and planning went into it, it seems rather plain compared to others, but for me it does express what I meant it to express. “Building upon the singularity and simplicity of the trunk, the progression moves up and out into the chaotic fracticality of the branches and limbs and onward to the complexity of the entire multiverse,” was how I described my intention to Lin … who giggled, because it’s such an artsy way to describe having knit my stripes in the sequence of Fibonacci. All the same, that was indeed what my thoughts were on all those long afternoons spent knitting the thing.†
Anyway, it’s weird the way I feel like I miss “my tree” and I wonder from time to time throughout the day how “my tree” is doing. LOL! And now I must stop sitting here missing “my tree” and get back to the housework.Footnotes