The wonder is that we can see these trees and not wonder more.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

Two years ago on Arbor Day Cass came home clutching a stick, its fairly-freshly cut end wrapped in a wet paper towel and covered with foil.

“We have to plant it,” she said, and launched with a list of reasons why trees are important.

(Trees are important, but that’s a post for another day.)

Jeff stuck it into this planter, where our driveway meets the steps down to our house. It just existed there, a stick, much like you’d expect a stick thrust into dirt would do.

It was quietly unfurling life beneath the surface; the next spring greenery emerged. I was amazed. Then the deer got to it, and we pretty much figured that was that.

But this year it fairly exploded, considering its humble beginnings, and now the leaves are turning colors and preparing to fall.

You never know where beauty will come from.

You never know what lies beyond what you can see.

You never know what will move you, touch you, make your heart ache over the passage of time.

Fall and winter are historically a difficult time for me, but they are necessary. The more arctic the winter, the more vibrant the spring; the more beautiful the foliage the following year. It’s a time for lying dormant, for resting, gathering energy, setting down roots.

I’ve been squirrelly lately; I’m spread too thin. I feel like I never get any real rest: even while sleeping, my brain is always working.

I normally dread the coming of the cold months, but I need them this year. The time to recover, find my footing, so I can become stronger and explode with activity once properly replenished.

I love how reframing a situation can make a huge difference. The mind is a funny thing.

I love how a stick can become so much more than a tree. Miracles upon miracles.

Thank goodness Cassidy insisted we plant her sad little stick. At the edge of our driveway is a fiery, tenacious dogwood. And in my soul there is newly-planted hope.