Tuesday, November 17, 2020


Mid November.  After the leaves.  Before the snow.  These bare trees.  Earth’s arms.  Reaching up towards the sky.  Empty branches.  Empty hands.  Seemingly idle, but in reality actively outstretching up to the heavens.  The time of the year where the forest is most transparent.  I ride out to the pavilion, sit for a bit, then continue my journey through our city parks.  The temp hovers just above freezing but the warm sun and calm winds make it feel warmer.  Pedaling through this cool calmness feels very comforting.  If I’m honest, I have been feeling my perspective towards winter changing these last few weeks.  My body and mind seem to unconsciously be getting ready for it.  An inherent acclimatization of sorts.  Rolling through Centennial Park, I notice the occasional falling leaf slowly drifting, dancing in the breeze as it slowly makes its way to the ground.  Like our thoughts that just randomly appear.  Drifting and dancing before eventually disappearing.  Going back home to where all the other thoughts live.  Back to where they came from.  Back into the totality of existence.  Back to where they rebecome an undistinguishably part of the whole.  These trees have so much to teach us.  They don’t resist the cold and darkness.  They open up to it.  Unafraid, they unapologetically disrobe.  Completely giving in.  Perfectly naked.  Stripping themselves of their summer baggage.  Showing us how, even in the darkest season of the year, things become much clearer when we finally let go of what we thought we needed to hold onto.  Winter’s coming.  How empty are your hands?

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