Life as a Tree

Mar 15, 2008 - 19:23 PM PST

It’s nearly Thanksgiving, and the mass exodus of leaves from their respective trees is in full swing. From where I sit, I the vivid colors of burnished gold, candy apple red, mulberry, pumpkin orange and sage green stand out against the drab gray of the street, and though I am aware of the cars passing by, they appear to me in a slow blur, pale in importance against the beautiful backdrop of the season of change. I consider the reality of those leaves, how they exist as a part of the trees for so long, lending an appearance of life and strength, that when they finally begin to drop and are carried away in the autumn winds, the trees themselves, with their stark grayish appearance, simply seem… dead. And so they remain through the cold winter months.

Fast forward a few months into the promising new blooms of springtime. Looking closely, one can see the tiny, hopeful buds of green peeking out from the deadened branches of those very same trees, lending a new life to their hosts. As I sit, examining the colorful foliage, I think to myself that some people are like trees. Their relationships blossom, are loved and nurtured, and worn like proud adornments until one day, the relationship shifts. One or both people begin to change, and slowly, the attachments begin to fall, leaving only an empty-looking shell of an insecure person. That’s how I feel right now… I am a winter-bitten oak tree. I hope my spring will come soon.