I wrote about it months ago,
The broken tree,
The tree that survived the brutal storm,
Cut almost in half,
Light wood showing where bark once was,
Light, splintered wood,
Yesterday, the wind blew hard,
Detached from their trees,
Flying almost completely horizontal,
Caught in the powerful air currents.
Little ones looked out the windows,
In awe of the incredible spectacle.
Suddenly, exclamations came from the other side of the room.
"The wind blew the tree down!"
As they rushed to the basement to tell Dad,
I rushed to the window to look.
They were right.
The wind had blown the tree down.
It was snapped in two
Like a twig.
The trunk of the tree stood in the ground like a pole,
Top edge jagged,
The top part of the tree had fallen hard
In a rather inconvenient location,
Across the end of the driveway,
Completely blocking entry
When the storm passed, I went out,
Camera in hand,
Trying once again to capture the brokenness,
Learning once again to call the brokenness "beautiful",
Rushing to capture the beauty before it was too late.
Soon, it really was too late.
He had to go move it,
Had to clear the driveway,
But it was too heavy for him to drag out of the way.
He got a saw and began to cut.
The beautifully broken was sawed apart
Until little remained.
Now it's almost completely gone,
Now there is emptiness where a beautiful, broken tree once stood.
I am reminded of what I said before,
That we, too, are broken,
That we often try to hide it,
Though broken truly is beautiful.
I am also reminded that there often comes a point when the brokenness can no longer be hidden,
When, like it or not, everything comes to the surface,
When we are snapped in two.
At that point, the choice comes to either run away from the truth
Or to embrace it,
To admit the brokenness,
And learn to call it "beautiful".
I am reminded of the fact that life is short,
Something to be embraced before it,
Sometimes, it is easy to embrace life.
Other times, life is another thing that we have to struggle to see as beautiful.
Still, it is most certainly precious,
Not something to be wasted.
The tree's roots are still there,
Buried deep in the ground.
The stump still remains,
A tribute to what once was.
I still have my pictures,
Showing the tree when it was alive,
I will never forget that tree
And all it reminded me of,
Continues to remind me of.
When I think of it, I will always remember