A picture is worth a thousand words week 4

(Photo provided by Kathleen Greene)

Peaceful Blue

I love moments like this. The time of day when the sun is high in the sky and breaks through the trees long enough to warm my bones.

 It calms me.

 I love watching the way the leaves change color against its rays. The wind moves the branches making the light dance on the ground around me. The blue sky is like a sea extending from east to west, completely engulfing the world like a cornflower goddess.

The world goes about its paces. Children romp about, running after their toys, playing childhood games. Yet all the while, I bask in the beauty of the slivers of light filtering through the branches above.

Not all days are as grand as this one. Sometimes the clouds hang close, their heavy dampness bringing along the sodden rains that dampen the ground and leave the park barren of life. Save for the silent growing of the roots and squirming of the worms beneath the soil.

It is then that the residents of the preserve come out. Small creatures, who forage for food and gather their winter stores. The never-ending task engrained in their survival instincts. It is safe, quiet, and open to all of the wordless beings who count on the cover of night or rain to leave their hiding spots and enjoy the world. For a short while you can forget that humans have touched and shaped this land, and just appreciate the nature and the wildlife that exists in its solitude.

When the weather turns cold, the leaves fall from the branches like feathers from a molting bird. The sunlight is colder then, but still as brilliant. It bathes the dying grass with an ethereal sort of glow, blowing the dead fray about the land like ghosts. The population still visits on days when the wind is low and the temperature is bearable. Eventually, however, just the steadfast visit, taking their morning jogs or walking their dogs through the trails.

Winter is the quietest time.  The birds fly away, leaving the sky bereft of their sweet songs. All of the animals hunker down for the season, sleeping or hiding away from the biting cold. It is dark here then. Snow covers my spot, depriving me of my view of the world. Under the blanket of winter, I have time to reflect. One should not be trapped inside their own mind for so long. Eventually, however, the snow melts away, and the sun brings back its warmth to the world.

Spring comes like a hurricane. The frost comes out of the soil making it soft and pliable. The sod begins to grow again, bringing with it the sweet smell of dirt soil and minerals. The trees bud, brightening the sky with a riot of colorful flowers. Life begins anew.

The animals begin to multiply; the birds come home to roost. All the things that scurry and scuttle emerge from their slumbers and bring life back to the meadow. When the people finally return, the days are longer, the sun warmer, and the nights hum with the song of the insects trying to find a mate.

Summer comes, and another year has passed like the moon across the sky. The parks visitors have changed and grown. Some, like the old man who plays chess, did not return. Some come back with a new family member. Though the faces change, the view from under my tree endures. The roots have grown deeper, the trunk thicker, its span wider, and its reach farther, but the sky above it never changes.

Therefore, on days such as this, I lay here in this shallow grave, reflecting. In all of my years, unnoticed, my soul lingering, stated in the calming comfort of the sun. I am happy. I’m happy to have the roots of the trees embracing my body like arms of loved ones holding me tight. I’m happy to be in the company of all the burrowing bugs and critters who live out of sight. Happy to be soaking in the life giving heat that others overlook, but I have learned to appreciate. 

When I was placed here, this grand tree was but a sapling. Mine was but a lone grave in the midst of a grazing field. No marker but a long ago moved rock to show of my presence. I have watched the world come up around me. Everything is forever changing, yet staying the same. Small towns give way to cities and then metropolises.  Leaf subsiding to leaf.

My only wish is that the souls who now play in the meadow where I reside appreciate the life they have. I was just a baby when I was interred here, no older than the tree I reside under. As the years span on so does my conciseness’, growing with the world.

Never take for granted the life you were given. For there are those of us that did not get to experience the world. Though I do not regret the time I have spent here in the ground. My only wish is for someone else to enjoy this light filtering through the branches above me and recognize the beauty that is a lifetime. For life is fleeting, and though we have but a short time on this plane, every moment should be cherished. 

 

TREE OF LIFE

A feeling of emptiness,
amidst laugher and joy,
it feels so hollow;

deep down inside,
as my mind drifts away
to a world full of dreams
and unimaginable possibilities

as i stare listlessly into this matrix,
the beating of my heart reverberates through my soul,
emotions trying to take control and i
realize i am running on empty;

exhausted,  i try not to think,
as the clouds pass by, i wonder if
this tree of life has ceased to have a meaning;

as the battle to live goes on,
in silence i sit in the shadows,
for the scars to fade away and
paint my dreams afresh;

by Tim Parish