From where I sit
It appears as if her arms are stretched wide.
This Beacon of shelter on days when the sun beats down.
This promise of hope.
At first, a seed
Pressed deep into the earth
Nurtured in a blanket of soil
Its soul quenched by the cool and refreshing tears of the air
Spoken to lovingly
Encouraged to grow.
Yet always reaching.
And as this tree ablaze in orange glory stretches out her branches
I am overwhelmed at the sight of her beautiful leaves
Falling to the ground.
A season of death is upon her.
A stripping away
A season of rest
Cold, waiting rest.
But there is a promise in the death
A promise of things to come
New life waiting to arrive in the dawn of a new season
If only she can hold on
If only she can hold fast to the promise of spring
A promise whispered deep into her heart by a gentle creator.
And, alas, she is protected.
Her skin is thick
And grows thicker
Year by year
Season by season
Each winter leaves its mark
The harsher the winds, the darker and deeper are the traces
And yet she still is beautiful.
And here I stand
Just a speck in comparison.
And I remember.
Each season passes
Winter comes and goes
And so it is with life.
Each season makes me stronger
Each season adds another layer to my life
And within each layer lies a glimpse of beauty
An inkling of the past
What once was so present and tangible is now only a story
And somehow this comforts me.
I feel safe beneath her branches that kiss the sky
Thanking it for each moment
For in each one bears the Glory.
This Glory I will taste and chase for all eternity
Until I am made brave like this sweet tree.
Until I am made new.