Tree Theory

January 14, 2019 § Leave a comment

Growth is slow.

Not always, certainly; some things, some feelings, some people grow seemingly overnight.

Often, though, growth is frustratingly, annoyingly, painfully slow. So slow, it’s imperceptible—especially to yourself.

I’ve been trying to grow in … well, several ways, really, but in one way in particular, and I’ve been frustrated at how slowly it’s going. It’s been over a year of self-help books and therapy and talking with people who have dealt with or are dealing with issues similar to mine.

At times, I felt like I’ve made no growth at all and said as such. Fortunately, others told me they’ve seen growth, even if I didn’t.

This weekend, though, I didn’t have anyone to tell me that. Snowed in for two days, I had plenty of time to beat myself up for not “getting there” yet. For not evolving fast enough. For not being wired right.

It lingered still this morning, through my ablutions and chores and the drive to the office. But then, sitting at my desk, a thought hit me out of nowhere: Personal growth is like growing a tree. « Read the rest of this entry »

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The Light on the Bright Trees

February 16, 2017 § Leave a comment

A stand of pale trees greets me as I leave the house this morning, their bare branches a radiant white, a bright sun rising before them and a threatening sky lurking behind.

Glowing ghosts of trees, trapped between the light and the dark.

It is a day of ghosts and shadows and grim skies. Of those lost, long ago and far too recently. Of grief held too close, and mistakes made, and lessons (hopefully) learned. Of advancing years, and a half-century gone in a blink.

A dark day, a threatening sky. And yet, light.

It’s millions of miles distant, across a cold black void. Still, the sun finds the faces of the trees, and they glow in defiance of the dark sky, and they are more beautiful because of it.

I step out of the shadow and turn, and the sun finds my face.


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Unbecoming

February 13, 2017 § Leave a comment

I moved to a new cubicle at work recently, overlooking the side lawn of the building and a stand of trees in which hawks and small birds like to sit. Several of the trees stand like massive lodge poles; bare of branches for the most part, and dead.

The hawks prefer the tops of the dead trees. They sit in the sun there, sometimes two or three atop the same tall spire of gray wood. Then swoop out in a great spread of wings to soar, or circle, or seize some small creature in their deadly talons. « Read the rest of this entry »

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