A SPRING day makes an old tree look young.

The ancient oak, its roots upturning the cracked plates of a misplaced sidewalk, corrugated bark frayed and acne-ridden, haggard limbs immodestly outstretched, wears a youthful fringe. High above the street, ignored by the preoccupied in occupied cars, seed and leaf unfurl. In festive alliance, wisdom and inexperience commingle against the moody spring sky.

Who wins? The green frills are there. They dangle and swing. They drop with the slightest stress to the sidewalk below.  A few may land.  None will grow, but those that briefly decorate the majesty and acceptance, the piety and determination the mature leaves obscure.

                                                                                —— Comments —–

Jim Wetzel writes:

A paradox: how temporary a leaf is, and how permanent! An oak’s leaf lasts a season at most, and maybe only an hour. But there were oak leaves long before me, and there’ll be oak leaves long after me. “For whoever wishes to save his life shall lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake shall find it.” 

Thanks for a beautiful post.

Laura writes:

Thank you.

It’s true. Both permanence and evanescence can be learned from an oak.

Please follow and like us: