Birth of Trees
Who can help but notice
the outstretched hands of the
tree against the skyline;
An unspoken prayer perhaps
offered unceasingly
to the God who gave it life and
light.
That first tree, born into the
dawning sunlight,
yearning ever upwards
became the first carbon-based
prayer book.
Filled with the wisdom of the
deep places and
enlightened in the first air of
the open spaces,
the randomness of its growing
movement
a symphony to the complexity
of the math of the universe.
Perhaps an algorithmic dance,
geometric certitude,
transcribed algebraic continuity
or fractional plausibility could
be found
in its airing growth. But isn’t the mystery
of the dance of the tree
toward the sun
a song only to be heard truly
in the soft moments of first
awakenings
or last fitful thoughts before
sleep.
Why not pause, in graceful awe,
in thankful praise
that such apparent randomness
occurs
over and over across the earth,
day and night, eon across
eon.
The birth of trees, marches on,
their limbs straining ever
upward,
a parade of delight
and humble worship
for that which they can feel
but truly cannot see.
As they grow,
they give thanks, continually;
limbs raised in worship to Him
from which their life comes.
And somewhere, there once was
only one
choreographing such a dance,
performing such a song,
until…in uncontained love,
it blossomed forth
with new seeds, and the dance
began all over.
From roughness of earth,
to trickle of water,
to breaking forth the shell of
earth
into a blanket of delicious
light.
There in that shining strength
life flowed and creeped
ever steadily upward.
For what else could it do,
That is what life does,
Even beginning with trees.
