As
the wind blows in the west
And
trees grow up in a sunny glow
On
dark paths, though I tread
I
shall return to Thee, my Lord
Far
off in the distant hills, where now travelers seldom journey, there
grows a mighty oak tree, a pillar sticking out against its
surroundings of grass and sage. A wash rolls next to the oak in early
spring, but quietly disappears as the hot sun of summer dries the
mostly exposed earth.
Through
some miracle of nature, one year when the rains and sun were just
right, the oak seed managed to take root in the wet soil, and began
its great journey of life, which started with no man recording it,
and has lasted longer than for any man to note its end.
One
bright, glowing spring, the tree emerged from its winter slumber,
with sprouts of green leafs coming forth at every angle and on every
branch to soak in the warm bath of sunlight.
They
grew quickly in the idealistic conditions, all eager to enjoy the
plenty the sun had to offer. They felt the glow and enjoyed the
tingle of the wind rustling between them, with the companionship of
hundreds of other leaves talking and moving around them. It truly was
a bustling spring, with all sorts of life in the air, unfolding as a
sublime dance in the sky and earth, tree, grass, and water.
Yet
there was one leaf which opened slowly and weak. When he finally
emerged, he was curved and did not move easily in the wind like the
others, but he kept growing and straightening. Soon, he stretched the
tips of his green veins to their full length and could bath fully in
the sunlight. He had missed some of the most radiant days of spring,
but was determined to enjoy it no less. Perched near the top of the
tree, he could see the grasses making their wistful patterns in the
evening wind, and the water tumbling in its dynamic formations. At
his height the stronger winds allowed him to flip and flutter with
more eagerness than all those around him.
Leafs
near enjoyed his company and good-nature, and they played and danced
together. One leaf, that was slightly below and easily visible by
him, particularly enjoyed his constant motion, and together they
flickered sun towards each other in a golden dance of rays.
Quickly
though, the liveliness of spring swept into the dryness of summer,
and some leaves wearied of the golden sun and windy dance. Some even
fell quietly to the ground, leaving the sun and wind for the cooler,
shade-filled ground.
But
not the leaf near the top of the tree. He still bathed in the sun and
loved to dance. Some of his friends were gone, but most stayed. They
did not dance as much as he, but once in a while, when the wind was
just right, he could get them to. And the leaf just below, his
favorite, still flickered back messages in the resplendent sun, and
together they made music of light and green.
The
months rolled on and with each new summer day, more leaves dried and
fell. When a rainstorm finally did come, it was not the exciting time
as before, but a drudgery to be past. Except for a few, like the leaf
at the top for the tree, who swayed gleefully with each new drop.
But
the rains grew colder and nights longer and leaves began to change
color more. With each change of color, more drifted gracefully to
join the others on the grassy ground. Soon most all his friends had
left. One day even his friend just below made a last glimmer of her
now yellow surface, then broke off, going back and forth in the air,
as if waving an unwilling farewell to the friend above, and finally
landing, joining old friends on the soft earth.
He
almost fell as well, in an attempt to catch that last joyous beam, to
try and hold on to that brilliant glimpse which seemed so deeply
burned into him. But he could not. He did not. He held on, whirling
in the wind.
`In the early evenings, though much colder, the wind spiraled around his now dry, and yellow-brown self, and for a moment he remembered those few spring days when the beautiful beams of the sun and moon glimmered and the warmth and light of life all around filled the grasses and the air completely.
`In the early evenings, though much colder, the wind spiraled around his now dry, and yellow-brown self, and for a moment he remembered those few spring days when the beautiful beams of the sun and moon glimmered and the warmth and light of life all around filled the grasses and the air completely.
Then
the wind would stop, night filled the atmosphere, and the chill air
enveloped him. The memories of moments before would fade into the
darkness of night.
Shortly,
snow fell and the few remaining leaves fell with it. Still the leaf
near the top of the tree held on, the lone leaf, in a lone tree in a
gray field of white. He saw his friends on the distant ground,
including his golden friend, just before the comforter of snow
blanketed over them.
The
snow piled high, and continued to stack up, yet the leaf held firm in
the tree in the cold stale air.
One
day a traveler, rare as they are, walked over the small snow-covered
hill where the oak tree stood. Looking up, he thought how curious
that one leaf alone stood in the top of the tree. Though the man was
tired, cold, and eager to return to his distant cabin, the
peculiarity of the situation pushed him to take some snow in his
hands, form it into a ball, and direct it toward the top of the tree.
Flying
just past the lone leaf, it made the stale air rush around him, and
for a moment, the warmth and excitement of the event caused the leaf
to remember vague distant memories of sunbeams, dancing grasses,
running water, and a leaf flickering back golden beams at him. The
emotion and happiness of days gone by engulfed him as he broke from
his perch and glided down onto the white plainness below. There he
landed as one dark spot on the white background. All his friends were
hidden many feet below. He was alone and cold in a field of white.
The
traveler was about to trudge on to his cabin before night fell, but
looked to the leaf and felt he could almost hear it mumbling a cry to
itself, “I cannot ask you for anything, for what am I to you? But I
am cold and alone, and impossibly distant from all I have ever known
and loved in this cold wasteland, because of my desire to dance in
the wind.”
The
traveler, half smiling, for hearing what perhaps was not there,
turned quietly and moved meaningfully towards the lone dark dot. And
though the air was getting colder, and the night was settling fast,
the man pulled from his pack a small shovel, and began to dig into
the pack of snow. Once his hole reached the earth, where grasses and
leaves and water were melting together to create nutrients for new
life, the man put the leaf quietly into his hands, looked at it with
a smile that showed overwhelming sadness and disappointment, then
dropped the leaf into the bottom of the hole. The hole was covered,
and the traveler hurried on his way.
The
leaf in the wind now lay silently, under the white blanket, finally
at peace.
Quietly
and firmly, the oak tree still stands out from its surroundings of
white. Resilient despite sometimes harsh conditions, the oak tree
continues to grow using the nutrients of the leaves and grasses
dancing together with earth and water, just beneath the snow.
“To
everything there is a season,
A
time to every purpose under the heaven…
A
time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A
time to mourn, and a time to dance…”
-Ecclesiastes
3: 1, 4