The Oak
On the east side of my house, a huge oak tree stands
sentinel. Hundreds of years old, it looks like the "Tree of Life" one
sees portrayed in pictures and on t-shirts. It is strong, vast, perfect
in shape- beautiful. I'm of the habit, in the warmer months, to read
and study scripture on my deck in the morning. Usually, I'll be outside
well before sunrise, coffee in hand, study materials on hand (my
electronic pad).
The natural order and rhythms of life around the farm
will start before first light. Slow chirping of the birds, far off
crows from the rooster down the road, then nearer chirping and warbling,
barking from the dogs and buzzing from the Hummingbirds as they fight
aerial duels for the nectar set out by my wife. The entire cacophony
rises and swells as the sun peeks over the horizon into the outstretched
arms of the old oak. I don't know what kind of oak it is. I know it's
not a Live Oak. It may be a Pin Oak. Somehow, to become too familiar
with it, to delve into its genetics and dendrology, would be sort of
impolite. Not that I would think it needed to be "asked". No, it is not
the Creator, nor is it "The Mother". It is part of the Creation.
Although it is majestic, solid, protective, growing, alive, it is
nothing more than a tree- a plant.
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| The Oak |
What the old, oak tree does is protect me and my house from the first
rays of the sun. Garish, harsh and brilliant, the sun jumps up in the
morning and declares the world "Open for Business"! It's hard not to
smile when the sun appears. Perhaps rooted in man's basic fear that it
might, just maybe, not rise one day, I feel joy in the morning greeting
the sun. But, I'm not totally ready for the blast of honesty and truth
revealed by the sunlight. The old oak tempers that assault and lets me
adjust gradually to the new day.
Eventually, the rooster crow
fades, the birds calm, the dogs curl up and the sun rises above the oak.
The day gets on with life. The oak grows one day stronger, bigger, more
protective of me and my family- and closer to death. The old sentinel
grows seemingly wiser, having seen another morning on the rise on the
east side of my house.
