In the yard of someone I have yet to meet, reside four tall pine trees all in a row. They block the home from the gaze of anyone walking by. These pines are massive. Stretching so high that they seem to touch the clouds. Catching the wind in their bows and scattering pine cones down below. They remind me of my childhood home and I always smile at them as I make my way to the grove of hardwoods at the edge of town.
Sturdy, powerful, wise. All traits I admire and am working on developing in myself. I wonder what these trees have seen. The changes they have witnessed over the course of their lifetime.
A few days ago, leash in hand and music flowing into my ears, I headed out on my favorite walk in town with my dog. Quite literally over the river and through the woods, I am lucky to have these features in a place I call home.
As we rounded the corner, I noticed an excavation company's multiple vehicles parked all around the yard of the majestic pine trees. It took my breath away as I realized what had happened in the night's record-breaking windstorm. The pines were laying on the grass. The lawn had become a burial ground of sorts. Their house now clearly visible for all to see, my heart felt heavy for the humans who no longer have their enormous evergreen guardians. I wondered about knocking on their door and offering a giant embrace for their loss. Then I questioned if others feel like I do about trees and kept on going.
(Maybe I will stop by with hot cocoas and deep understanding next week.....)
We walked away, her four furry paws and my two winter boots crunching on the frozen snow drifts. A bittersweet mix of admiration and sadness swirled in my mind. And a recognition of the distinct phases of life. These beautiful trees had blown over all at once, nearly falling on top of the house that they had sheltered.
But the roofline remained intact, the outbuildings survived. Only the four trees perished. Sawdust and new stacks of wood all around, I smiled through my tears. The buzz of the chainsaws grew fainter and fainter with every step and I wondered about who might use the firewood to heat their home over the winter. Watching the wood turn into flames, would they know the beauty they were witnessing? Would they question the things I question?
I was almost late to my appointment, being lost in thoughts of these trees. I would love to know who might have planted them years ago, four tiny little saplings all in a row. And I can't wait to see what might grow in their place.
Either way, the message from the gorgeous trees gently slipped into my veins:
In any form you may take
Or phase you might be in
It is safe to be seen.
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