Pine Needles

Finding Beauty in the Details

Early this year, triggered by a combination of midlife family and job stress and the kindness of a phenomenal therapist, my perception of myself suddenly snapped into focus, and I began to understand that I am autistic. This shift in my identity triggered an avalanche of memories. Moments in my life I had not thought of in decades have resurfaced to be examined in light of this new context. Many of these memories are small traumas, harmless alone, but heaped up over the years, they explain the myriad scars on my heart and soul.

There are incredible memories as well, made more beautiful by the context I’ve gained this year. One such moment has surfaced recently from a time when I was very young.

Photo by Hope Rivers on Unsplash

Pine needles have fallen on and around a wooden picnic table. The tree above has very long needles and they fall in pairs. They are like tweezers to me and I am captivated. There is a sheath that holds them together in their tweezer form. I feel the slightly abrasive texture as I run my fingers along the needles. My fingers come away with the slightest sticky sensation from the tree pitch.

Sitting here now at my computer, I smell the pine trees and feel their needles in my fingers. There has never been a time in my life where I was not fascinated by the intricacy of such small, natural things. This, too, is who I am.