Saturday 25th September
Day 157
When I come home this evening I find that my husband has pruned the apple tree. We have different words for it. His is trimmed. Mine is butchered. He is surprised by my grief.
Since I can’t put back the severed limbs and their fruit I’ve been wondering how to undo my loss. And my rage at him. Which of course cuts deeper into us, and is more hurtful to him - and to me - than any murdered branch.
Right now I could apply the salve of loving kindness - always good to spread on the most tender wounds - real or imagined. But am I willing to give up oozing first?
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