Theo Wirth Parkway

I saw the world change today. Each tree an individual, casting it's own unqiue hue, unnameable by humans, but distinctly different in a divine color palette; the burnt, the yolk colored, and the pumpkin dyed leaves falling on my windshield as driving down Theo Wirth Parkway in Golden Valley.

There were some tall spruce that were unchanged, standing among his radiant friends. They held their same deep olive boughed look that for a moment caused me to feel bad for them. Unchanged. While all their fellow trees dazzle the passers with their painted leaves, the spruce sat steady in their color.

Some days, actually most days, I feel like the spruce. Good friends getting married, having sons, starting big jobs in the "real world," buying houses, moving and settling. Me, well, I am just stagnant. I am still living like a college student, like I did when I started out, barely making ends meet. No change, but a degree.

And even though it is all taunting - occasional questions from aunts or parents wondering when I was going to plunge into marriage, settle down back in a small town, and even find a job in my field - for some reason, I am okay with it.

As I turned onto Wayzata Boulevard, I realized something - when the first snow falls on frozen Minnesota terrain, there are usually dead, bare trees and full spruces to catch some flakes. Though the elms and boxelders and maples may be beautiful in the fall, the spruce is the star in the winter. It's branches hold icicles of crystals, dallops of light white, and has every eye captivated.

So, I am okay with being a spruce for now. I may not be changing, but my circumstances will.