Posts Tagged ‘strenth’
Gifts from a Neighboring Oak Tree
The half-mile long dirt road veers sharply where the old oak grows. It’s a landmark of sorts in these parts.
Standing at the base of a bramble-covered driveway that led to a farm house that’s no longer there, it carries within its towering limbs a thousand tales.
It’s a majestic tree. When you stand beneath it and gaze up at its gnarled branches, you can’t help but feel a sense of awe. It seems noble somehow, so ancient and enduring, so in harmony with the life force that flows through its massive form.
It’s the epitome of strength and of benevolence, affording a home to countless generations of insects, squirrels and birds, shading the wildflowers that grow beneath it, feeding small creatures with its abundant crop of nuts.
I don’t know why, exactly, but when I stand beneath it I feel healed somehow, as if it has given me some of its strength and shared a silent message. I sense its deep roots extending into the earth below me and feel my own rootedness. I see its branches extending outward and upward and I’m inspired to reach upward and outward as well. I see how it flourishes, despite its antiquity, and I’m encouraged to endure, and to dance, as it does, in harmony with the life force that flows on and on and on.
And so I sing its strength tonight, and share it with you. It’s given me such blessings. The least I can do is pass a few of them on.
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