Birth of Trees
Who can help but notice
the outstretched hands of the tree against the skyline;
An unspoken prayer perhaps
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,
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.