The trees on the ridge high above our cove are discussing the wind this morning, and there are strong opinions among the crowd. Morning came earlier than my situational awareness, and the t-shirt I wore to the barn was a thin response to 34 degrees.
Curiously, I didn’t really feel chilly until I came back inside and checked the temperature. I wonder if that’s why Peaches, whose coat is thinner than my shirt, doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold: She never looks at a thermometer.
I also wonder if, had I never read an opinion about climate change, listened to a professional talker reiterating the latest warnings and predictions, or spent hours doom-scrolling through the worldwide web of misfortune, I would have taken more time to appreciate the abundance of beautiful October and November days of t-shirt weather that we were granted this year.
It is my observation that many times the fly in the ointment is the one we put there, the one we have labored to catch.
Granted, there are plenty of flies available. Here in our own backyard, thousands of people are bracing against the cold wind in a coat that was donated to replace the one they so recently lost. Far away, there is war and rumor of war, and the earth is still plagued by the tyranny of evil men.
It has always been thus, but sometimes the events driven by fear sweep across the land like a cold front, and the howl is as loud as the wind on the mountain this morning. I feel a tinge of sadness as the sound of a tall sentinel losing its grip on the soil punctuates the roar.
It always comes back to fear. Hatred is fear of the other. Anger is fear of our vulnerability. The most fearful people are the most controlling, and from this poisoned spring, the tyrants of the world flow. And the bureaucrats.
Faith banishes fear, but we conflate faith with religion, and religion without faith is just another bureaucracy. Gratitude also shines a light on fear. Pity that Thanksgiving only comes once a year when we need its reminder so much more often. Thousands in North Carolina will celebrate the holiday grateful to be alive. I’m grateful that the trees above us are still standing, unlike over 800,000 acres of forest too close for comfort.
Gratitude brings us back to the moment, the only time we have, and away from the phantoms of our fears which, the vast majority of our precious time, are ghosts of the past or imaginings of the future. Neither of those is real like the sun coming over the mountain on a new day.
The tree that fell was a red maple, and I have learned from his clan. Cut him down and he sprouts again from the stump. Knock him over and he sends down roots wherever he touches the ground, and turns his branches upward again, into the light.
Outside The Box 