Sitting on my couch, looking out the window, I can't help but notice the birchtree on this snowy March morning. There is a leaf still clinging to a branch. For some reason the death of winter and the blustery days since last fall have not noticed this little fella as it maintains a stranglehold onto its source.
Within a few weeks, Spring will spray a whole new gaggle of leaves onto the old wooden branches of this birchtree. Will any of the new bosoms know of its cousins from an earlier time? Will time stand still for the new foilage until its death? All leaves die but does the leaf realize they only have 4 months to enjoy his life?
There have been 41 generations of leaves grow and die in my lifetime. Maybe I will witness another 40 generations of buds before the Autumn of my life arrives.
The tree is a leaf's source, its lifeblood, its energy.
Are people nothing more than leaves. We make plans. We build our paths. Winter must come. And with that we shall die while a new generation of budding leaves take our place on this spinning grain of dust, our source, our lifeblood, our energy.
Is there an energy greater than ourselves observing our lives as a short season, just as we observe that of a leaf on a birchtree.
No comments:
Post a Comment