I Think That I Shall Never See.....

   I can relate to Joyce Kilmer, who wrote Trees. As he penned the line: " I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree" he must have had his heart touched by nature. There is a certain something about God's floral offerings that makes me wax poetic too. (and I'm NO poet!)

   There are many trees on Milagro Acres. The one that has touched my heart, though, is and old and twisted plum tree. I first became acquainted with this tree when the remodel was taking place. The tree grows directly in front of the kitchen window. When the deck was being built, there was discussion about whether the tree should go or stay, as it was going to compromise the building of the deck.

   Begin married to a forest ranger, I was never very worried about the tree. Somehow I knew the tree would win out over the deck. Sure enough, while vigorous trimming had to occur, the tree still grows and blooms outside the kitchen window.
 
  The very first time I really took notice of my "God" tree, it was filled with blooms and alive with millions of bees. It was an occasion that filled the senses. The beauty of the pink blossoms. brilliant in the sun was a feast for the eyes.  Than of course there is the song of the bees. The entire tree sounded like a room full of people praying in tongues. It was truly heavenly. The third sense that was touched that day was the sense of smell. It was wonderful. As I gazed at that tree, set in a background of brilliant morning sun, I was called to give praise to a God who loves us so lavishly.

   I grew up in the Texas panhandle, and what trees are there must be nurtured through hot dry summers, windy falls, miserably cold winters and tornado filled springs. Yet there is beauty in the prairie too.There are brilliant sunsets, prairie flowers, and prairie sounds.  I first learned to praise the God of creation as I stood watching a windmill bring fresh water to thirsty cattle. Somehow, the windmill has become my personal symbol of the Holy Spirit. Wind driven, it brings life-giving water to a parched and desolate soul. The soul of the person, and the soul of the land.

   Back to my God tree. Once the blooms were dispersed, the tree gave shade to the kitchen. The humming birds fed eagerly at the feeder nestled in the trees branches. In the fall, when the rains come, the tree seems to change colors. It becomes a silvery grey, somewhat like the rain clouds that dominate our winter weather. By mid-Winter  the branches are covered with hoar frost. Then the tree limbs boast a  lustery sheen that makes them appear luminescent in the soft morning sun. My favorite vision of the God tree, though is when the dew is dripping from every branch and each little twig. That is when the tree appears to be brillianty lit with tiny, sparkling, lights that shimmer in the grey morning light. As the sun gets higher in the sky, the droplets begin to dissipate, but not before I get a chance to once again praise a God that creates such beauty and mystery, right in front of my kitchen window.

   I think that I shall never see a poem (or much of anything else) that is as lovely as a tree. Thank you God, for putting me in lush, green Oregon. Praise you, God, for placing me in the Texas panhandle where another kind of natural beauty first called me to see you as the Divine Gardner.