Perseverance, or "Ode to a Tree"

Trees are amazing life-forms. You'll find them thriving in forests, jungles, backyards, parks, in tiny bonzai pots, on cruise ships, in shopping malls, amidst the crags of rocky mountains, along rivers, in swamps, and perhaps my favorite, springing from the remains of their own once-majestic trunks, now either severed by man or perhaps downed by flood or wind; at any rate, new life forges through the wreckage from whatever portion of the root that connects again with the soil.

The trees that live by defying prevailing winds. Those trees are remarkable. They give concrete form to the shape of those winds, their once-upward thrust bending and solidifying in the direction of the gale. Occasionally, a growth spurt will occur for a time unhindered by enough wind to alter the tree's inherent desire to grow toward the sun. You can see those days of respite in the straighter segments of the trunk.

We've had an unusually windy winter around here. Driving about town, you'll see upended root masses along nearly every street. Arborists are still trying to clear the debris from the fallen trees, most of which by now have been cut and quartered, to be reincarnated as firewood next fall. But what catches my eye are the tender green shoots now occasionally visible in the tangled roots -- not the weeds, but the tree's own anatomy, pressing again toward the sun with as much energy as it can muster.

These trees preach to me, and I love them.