October 25, 2012 § 33 Comments

She stands amidst the range of trees out back.  A proud and massive oak, flanked by the maples.  Her main trunk splits and she is slightly out of kilter, leaning to the west, but she wears her imperfections with disregard.  Dressed now in the orange cloak of fall, soon she will stand nude through her winter vigil.

I have seen her limbs sway in the howling storms.  Gracefully undulating to the forces of nature.  Today the wind is down and she is still.  Yet even in her still and silent posture I feel the energy and strength radiating outward.

Over the years I have spent countless hours in her presence.  She watched over me as I buried Mike, our cat of 19 years, in her shadow.   So many times, when I needed to return to the center, I stood before her and felt her presence.  She is a living, breathing existence for me- not an object or a thing.

We choose how we live in and how we experience the world.  She shows us the way.

Not loud, quiet.  Not frantic, still.  Not rigid, supple.  Not drifting, rooted.

I see her now.  She is simply and always right there.

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§ 33 Responses to Rooted

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