Everywhere I drive I notice the trees. They’re not complete trees. They’re partial trees. Mostly, they’re a mass of intertwined branches that are slowly shedding the colorful coat of leaves that once clothed it. Its a slow process. The yard across the road has one tree. The tree reaches high into the sky and looms over the parking spaces underneath it. Its an impressive tree, majestic in the presence it has and shade that it creates. Now, its falling apart. Piece by piece its letting go of that strong presence it once possessed. Its bare. It is showing its skeleton that pales in comparison to its usual vibrant facade. The withered, lifeless leaves litter the ground beneath it shades of orange, yellow, and brown. The wind cuts through and around each branch. Each gust testing the twigs. Its tested all the time. Every moment is a struggle. Each branch fights to hold on. Hold on to what? To see the next term of life come around. This term is at an end. Each branch wants to be around for the glorious moment of green and lively enrichment. But it knows that in order to boast in that glory, it must endure death. It must endure the process of becoming new again. Time after time after time.
Seasons. They are perfectly created to teach us about life.