My lemon tree had grown weary. Even though they were side by side at the Farmer's Market when I bought them in December, my sister was reporting signs of first fruit on hers in South Carolina. She said the only thing she'd done besides water and sunshine was to transplant it into a bigger pot. So that's what I tried. And viola. Within a day, it was not the same lemon tree. It is greener, bigger, somehow more alive. With all kinds of activity blossom-wise. Which got me thinking how I have navigated life from the confines of the same old container I came in, even when it didn't really fit any more. Things seemed fine from the outside, but there just wasn't room to bloom. I changed out my lemon tree to an Italianate stone urn with angels cut into it, loosening the roots and tamping lots of rich soil around them. Then tossed the black plastic pot from the nursery into the recycling bin. (Henri Matisse, Lemons on a Pewter Plate, 1926)
When is the last time you found a personal note peeking out of your mailbox? From someone who gathered paper, pen or laptop (and thoughts) and focused solely on dear, wonderful you? Well, there will always be correspondence to open here. Love letters from life, written just for you.