From A Severed Trunk

Today, I went for a walk at a nearby conservation area. I walked amid mid-March and mid-afternoon sun, tall trees, and atop a few feet of well packed and gently melting snow. For a little while, I sat on a bench overlooking a frozen but melting river. I observed a tall tree along the riverbank in front of me, how its trunk was severed after several years of growth, the top portion completely broken off, and how growing out from just below the broken place were two long arms, and growing out of those, straight up, were many new branches, like a bush of branches, one standing on top each of the arms. The bushes stretched with strength and innate interest toward the sky and bore hundreds of new leaf buds–indicators of the thousands of things happening inside, sight unseen to us, which will lead soon enough to an amazing burst of green. Maybe, seeing this then, if not before, we might smile, feel a little lightness, a little dance in our step, feel thanks swimming in our skin. The trunk was severed yet the leaves found a way to come.