i’ve found myself noticing holly more over the past year. this is usually how a connection to a plant starts – a slow awareness of all the spaces we share together. “oh, another holly, how cool.” i begin greeting it whenever i approach its home. i note the differences and similarities between each one i meet. most exciting is when i meet one with berries. i have a mental map of all the hollies that have berries at the trail that i think isn’t steep, who has recently been re-named by my kids as the warriors den. 

the appreciation for holly has been ramping up this autumn. i trace the spiked leaves and study the way they grow. i think a lot about this tidbit of folklore i heard: looking in between holly branches can reveal other realms. i don’t know where this originates (could be the internet for all i know), but it’s poetic enough that i drift back to it when i’m looking at the trees. i watch the negative space in between the branches and boughs. at the very least, the shapes they frame are unique. 

last time i was at my new sit-spot, i cut a piece of holly off the tree in front of me. it has berries, but very few. i think i counted 5 or 6 for the whole tree. i took the piece home and placed it in water to propagate. i planted two hollies near my house a few years ago. the one with berries died and the remaining holly has been without a mate. i assumed i was focused on the berried hollies because the bright pop of red in the forest is exciting, but maybe i’ve been subconsciously sizing them up to find a partner for my holly. after a few days, the cutting has the faintest little hairs emerging from its wound. i’m hopeful but realistic. i didn’t even use rooting hormone, so this is a bit of a long shot.