Wind can be a powerful metaphor. I watch it now as a thunderstorm gains strength. Trees sway in its wake. I see a certain flexibility in the act. The tree does not break as I would think it would amid such strength. It seems to bend willingly to the force of the wind, never so rigid as to be forced to the ground. A form of weakness? I think not.
Perhaps something more profound can be seen in this force of nature and how the tree surrenders to it. The wind passes afterall. It always does. Yet the tree, for the most part, remains. Rooted in the soil, cleansed of debris, the air in which it thrives clean, it remains an anchor in the landscape. It brings shade and beauty, and as the wind rustles its clothing, a sound of leaves takes place, so mesmorizing it becomes nature’s own chime.
Storms of the human kind pass my way many times, and more often than not, as I step into them, I find myself taking a deep breath and saying this too shall pass. The words comfort me, because I keep learning that beyond the darkened skies there is something more. Like the tree, I stand firmly in the moment, true to my heart and the ideals I hold dear, but not so absolute that I disregard the other truths in the situation. It’s a dance really. I bend forward, backwards, side to side, as if to consider there is something at work here beyond my current vision. It’s a revelation well worth examining.