Roots and Branches
Laying under a tree on a hot summer eve with the solstice sun still hanging in the deep, blue sky.
I squirm on the grass until the roots support my head. I imagine the tree cradling me like a baby in her arms.
I look up into the blanket of leaves wiggling above me, sending the breeze to play with my hair.
Tiny holes in the green filament allow light to touch my face but not burn my skin.
The moment is idyllic; I breathe in the goodness of it, inhaling the memory to be savored on a long, cold January night.
I consider the tree: her roots, her branches.
I think of God who created her, as well as me.
I have entered into the great temple. Its grandeur always surrounding me,
if I have the eyes to behold; if I have the heart to worship.
(photo by Ed Siderewicz)