Tree of Life

Note: This post is featured in Festival of Trees #62, hosted by Kate Natick of Beyond the Brambles. 

I wish words could express, or a photo convey, the charm of fireflies glowing in the rain. The magic of watching fireflies dissipates as soon as I pick up the camera and try to track them through the viewfinder.  But perhaps it's best that many of nature's mysteries elude capture. It reminds us that we are not the center of everything, that wild things dance to music we do not hear.

Sometimes, if my heart is open, I hear the whispers of trees. The trees that speak to me are usually old, twisted, scarred or growing in unfavorable places. One young sycamore tree captured my heart last winter, and every few weeks I pay it a visit. It grows, appropriately, on New Hope Creek. I loved it before I ever saw it clothed in leaves, because it grows in solid rock in the middle of the stream.

The young sycamore tree speaks to me of resilience, of the will to live that thrusts its roots through rock to reach the water. It speaks of grace, of life that overflows in the most surprising places. It speaks of creativity, of abundance, of the love of a creator who wants life to flourish everywhere.