ms. tree

Someone introduced me to the trails behind a cemetery

loved it so much 

went there twice today

Walking slowly on the narrow path with exposed roots like veins of Grandma Earth

surrounded by the scent of fresh pine trees

listening to the echos of a woodpecker from a distance

I felt set apart 

from the rest of the world

It was an ordinary walk until 
something

grabbed my quiet attention  

A broken tree stump,

in the middle of it 

a young pine tree
To my eyes

 she's no longer a broken tree stump    

but a home

for the new lives rooted and growing

In life 

we get broken and wounded

not to the same degrees

but with no exceptions

It's easy for us to turn into wounded beasts

 constantly rubbing our wounds against others to bleed together 

It's harder to be wounded healers
but possible

when we have compassion for our wounded, vulnerable self
allowing others to love us as we are
trusting the certainty of God's desire to heal us
transforming ourselves into something we've never thought possible

giving a room for a new life to grow 

I bow to the tree 
for she is my teacher