Another rainbow crosses the Columbia River as I write this morning. I do live in a magical land filled with rainbows. It is also a place in which trees are deformed by the same robust winds that lure windsurfers to the area.
These are not the model Christmas trees, shaped like so many isosceles triangles. Giving up their westward facing branches, they more accurately resemble right triangles. Hunched over, they bend away from the wind.
This is particularly true of those trees on the edges of groupings, along the river, or at the top of hills. Exposed, they match the persistence of the wind as they reach upward toward the energizing sun. Sometimes damaged, or appearing dead, the trees resurrect in the spring.
The trees remind us that beauty is not found in chiseled abdomens or wrinkle free skin but in the Divine journey.
Though I am barraged by fierce winds,
I will reach upward to the One.
Matching the tenacious gale,
I persist under blue skies and grey, wet blankets.
I dance with the wind making him my partner.
As I journey toward the One,
the Divine is already with me,
surrounding me in the mossy green of winter,
and the purples and reds of spring and summer.
And when I finally succumb to el viento,
I will be the soil that feeds my offspring,
living within all those who follow,
and seek the divine One.