The pounding rain is seeking to undo the morning’s inches of snow. Howling wind dries the puddles in preparation for a cold, winter night. Branches sway, light posts teeter, yet the sun still shines. A lull in the wind reveals a warm sun gracing the blustery day. The sun warms my toes in its embrace, and I stop shivering. The wind picks up; leaves swirl; branches drop from their arboreal abodes. The warmth is hard to feel, but the memory lingers.
From the window I see white and gray clouds as they try to flee the terrestrial wind, racing past the sun in dense, gray numbers. The shivering trees look animated as they respond to every gust of the wind, quaking in its unending breath. The tall and mighty trees wobble regardless of kind or species. Sprawling oaks, slender birches, stately pines, and other trees bear the assault of the wind with equal grace. All but one tree.
The tree is 10 or 15 feet shorter than the other trees. The buffeting wind touches the treetop with a gentle push. The branches play the wind like piano keys. Its foliage is not marred by bitter weather, but its ardor is published in the presence of its deciduous friends. Its trunk is strong; its needles are green. Tiny pinecones tip the branches and entwine themselves in the prickly depths. Amid the seeming dead around it, the evergreen shines its rays of green for all to see.
As with the trees, so with humanity. Terrestrial mirroring the heavenly. Visible reflecting the invisible, with God actively reigning over all.
Very nice! Such a lovely poetic view of winter upon the trees
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