HEART'S CRY

I stand at the window.  My new little Hawthorne tree looks sad to me. Which is so silly.  My tree isn't sad, or frustrated or sick of winter!  For it knows and is content.  It's feet has spread since its transplanting and have made itself at home within the soil of the yard.  The various root hairs feel the tickling of spring. While the bare branches bleakly and staunchly remain still, it carries an almost noble look.  A contentment.  A waiting.  It knows it will do no good to flail and pout.  To stretch to the sunniest part of the winter yard will only break it apart. Under the ground, is another story.  The blanket of snow and longer days have sent a little shudder through the community in the soil.  Spring is beginning its annual stirring.  The tree has rested in its dormancy and the sap will soon begin to rise.  Little Hawthorne embraces this process.  The process of knowing,...