It’s foggy here this morning, overcast and cloudy, gray as the shade of my own perspective. The sun has yet to rise, with this thick generous shroud reminding me of a down blanket having been thrown lovingly across a quietly emerging sky. The trees, however, otherwise green and brilliant gold, are silhouetted now, dark against the sky, illuminating the private side of their mysterious existence. They reach heavenward, as all living things do, but loom menacing in the darkness when reduced to only shape and shadow.
Night creatures tend to reduce themselves to shape and shadow in order to co-exist with the darkness.
I bet you think I’m going to make some comments now about human nature.
Who me?
All things become self-evident in the light. Trees display their color, their texture, their leaves or needles, their bark, their acorns, their pinecones or buds. They exhibit the most general, as well as the smallest detail of their species, their structure, their age, their personality even. The light glistens and dances off the leaves when they’re damp, and reflects their brilliance like the sound of the trumpet echoes the passionate breath of Miles Davis. Every scar is revealed in the light, every new growth, every bend from the wind, every broken branch, every area of death or decay. The health of the tree is made manifest by its patent visibility. You cannot see the tree and not see its condition.
But even the humbled, the broken down, the splintered, the fractured, the diseased and dying, they retain an inexplicable splendor.
And so it is with people.
It is the innate character of God.
The night hides that character like a burka hides
the beauty of a woman.
