On the bank of the river in the peaceful place where travelers would stop to rest
sat a small stand of flowering trees. Those who traveled through spoke to others
of the beauty and tranquility of the place, marveled at the strength and size of the
largest and the delicate beauty of the smallest saplings new from the spring. Some
spoke in sad tones of the largest tree - feared that it was old and would one day be
gone - for even trees have finite times - but the tree was strong and straight and
held its place. For many years it remained the same at the rest stand. Early one
spring people arrived and found the central space empty - in the night someone had
cut the largest tree down leaving only an open space.
Over the spring and summer the stand faltered - struggled. The shade and shelter of
the large tree gone, the mid-level trees burned in the harsh light. The caretakers
worried but knew with tending and time the stronger ones would survive and begin
to fill in providing shelter and shade. Sadly they knew that the weaker ones would
likely be lost. Beneath the mid-layer was a tiny sapling and this one they knew
would need the greatest amount of care - without the central tree to insure shade
and space it might burn in the harsh light and lack space to reach toward the sky
straight and tall.
The small stand was cared for by a single family - an elder father and his sons.
The family lived a quiet life at the edge of the stand tending the trees and caring for
their families. The spring the central tree was cut the elder father fell ill - too soon
he was gone, some saying he was lost to grief for the tree and worry for the stand.
He had instilled in each of his sons an abiding love for the stand and the earth - and
they continued his work. But too much of his knowledge and wisdom they did not
yet have - care for the stand was a struggle and the stand suffered as they fought to
learn the lessons of the mother earth. Some gave up in dismay and left - though a
few tried to honor the memory and the stand - and all felt the loss.
Quietly watching in her own sadness a small girl-child grew - she ached for a
grandfather who year after year was more and more a ghostlike memory and yearned
for the lessons only he could have shared.
In our lives we travel as the old tall ships driven by the winds of fate
and rocked in the wake of others as we also rock them – sometimes gently
– sometimes roughly. Sometimes we travel waters deep and still,
sometimes quite stormy – but never, even when it seems certainly
so do we travel alone.
Some cast a small shadow that creates a large darkness, but some special few
cast a large shadow that creates a safe loving shelter.
