We have these amazing, ancient boxwoods behind our house. (My mom says they have been here since the Civil War; is that possible?) They are huge and draped with ivy. When we were little they were our boxwood playhouse, forming giant, cool rooms where we could set up house.
Now, they are a perfect haven for so many songbirds. This evening, as I rounded the corner in the gloaming dusk, I heard the rapid, secret, rush of wings as two finches fluttered above me, disturbed by my sudden presence. I looked up to see their dark outlines against the dusty blue sky, the pale yellow half-moon glowing above the ridge. I felt a surge of joy. I knew that I was intruding on this place, that the birds and boxwoods had been here long before me. I was honored to be their pesky disturbance. I knew they would be back.
I inhaled the electric joie de vivre, the joy of life.
Bridal posing under twisted boxwood branches
She is a native 