There was a weathered ol’ stump in my dad’s backyard, once a silver-leaf maple the old folks said. The stump was just right for sittin’ a bit, ‘cept for the tooth marks of a cross-cut saw.
I sat there one day, it was quiet and still – and I felt like that stump had a story to tell. Borne by the breeze from a forest of trees, this maple tree seed had fluttered and fell. Fluttered that day to the soft green hay. Nestled and nourished it had come there to stay where it landed to stay in my dad’s backyard that fine spring day.
I pictured the tree as it grew straight and tall,laden with treasures both large and small. Low branches for swings and bird nests and things. The fullness and shape of a big maple tree resembles a puffball symmetrically. Each branch and leaf seem to know how far its limbs should go so that all who stand in its shade will know that its just the way a maple tree should grow.
When autumn arrives the hills explode with a landscape of leaves reds, and gold. Who can drive by those rich colorful sights without feelings of awe at nature’s delights?
In winter it stands stark and bereft of leaves,but soon enough, as everyone knows, spring comes and brings warmth so the sap starts to flow. And freely it flows for all to partake of a breakfast of pancakes all slathered with sweetness and praise for the big maple trees and their giving ways.
But the years go by and the tree gets old and soon its lumber is sawed up and sold. Its beauty transformed into desks and chairs and all sorts of wares.
And who hasn’t sat by a campfire at night a-crackle with flames throwing warmth and light? I sat on the weathered ol’ stump that day and marveled a bit at all I had glimpsed of nature’s rich gifts. It matters, you know, that we comprehend a little seed blown about in the wind brought birds and shade and painted hills and even stumps to sit on to dream and be still.
Photo by Zuzanna J on Unsplash