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WIND, TREES, AND ME
©By Russ
Birds stand almost completely still
in the air, flying against the wind,
progress in the tiniest of
increments, from tree to tree.
The wind is whipping over the cabin
like a big rig speeding down a
country road. Every tree in its path
bends and shakes as it roars on by.
There are a few moments lull,
and it again tears through the trees,
scattering small branches, dead
leaves and oak balls. Only the tiny
new leaf buds remain, impervious to
the wind.
The oaks here always wait until the
very last moment to send out those
reddish buds that signal the
resurrection of these old trees.
And for the longest time I'm not certain
that they’ve made it to another season.
And I can’t help thinking that this
all has something to do with me.
Each year feels as if it could be my
last, and I brace myself against the
winds, waiting to be toppled to the
ground.
Far too often, it feels like I am
fighting against an outgoing tide.
Yet I’m still here, and amazed to
find a bit more useless fears
(that were clinging to me, or I to
to them) have been blown away. And
I, like these scraggly old oaks,
have been resurrected one more time.
Russ
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