Seeing with vulnerable eyes

Dear Friends,

Something new happened for me this Spring.

I stopped waiting for leaves to appear and began seeing the beauty of the trees, just as they are. I admired the grey-brown textured trunks, reaching up into the sky. Branches, thick at first, created a labyrinth as they narrowed and met one another above me. Some trees were clumped together as tall families hovering over the ground below. I looked far into the woods, no shady green branches were blocking my view. I saw past their upright lines and beyond, light came through from the other side. In a few months, this will be a forest. It will be a place of shelter and quiet. But today, the space feels like a foreign land inviting me into a new perspective.

The eagles called me to this new way of seeing. Their flight past my window thrills my heart every single time. They dip into the lake for a snack and then, whoosh, up into the tree to munch on their catch. I watch their naps, occasional preening, and their community meetings of 2, 3 or 4. Without leaves to block my view, the private life of my eagle friends has become accessible to me.

I don’t want to rush the arrival of green that covers the world above me. I’m looking for new signs of life that are hidden when summer’s leaves arrive. I find I am grateful for the trees in their vulnerable state. They have revealed another beauty around and within their midst. With quiet assurance, the trees have survived our Connecticut winter, and I wonder…have I?

I think of my own vulnerable places. Can I, like the trees, live for today just as I am? Can I see beauty  in what is, without imposing expectation or defense?In other Springs, I saw the trees as “naked” as I waited impatiently for their green vestments. This year, I’m learning that these noble trees “are” just as they are supposed to be. There is grace in their faithful acceptance of the rhythm of life. Could it be, that I too am just where I’m supposed to be? Can I embrace what is within, around and before me? May I stand tall with my tree friends and remember…”I am enough.”

Peace be with you this day, Lisa