I awake at six in the morning. Cold and dark. I had intentionally left the blinds open the night before, so when I awoke, I could see the majestic pines outside the windows.
Yet, I didn't expect to awake in darkness. I didn't expect to find the evergreens' majesty more imposing than in light. I'm taken to William Bliss Baker's 1886 painting Fallen Monarchs, a painting of a forest of strong trees bathed in golden light, surrounded by the natural decay of time, fallen trees.
It's the natural process of life, to be cut down, to wither with time. For new growth, for someone else to shine, to be the darling. We pass through life, we pass off our lives to others. We shift responsibilities; we bless those who follow in our paths. Our paths become theirs.
Hopefully, we've cleared the rocks and paved it well.
Yet, I didn't expect to awake in darkness. I didn't expect to find the evergreens' majesty more imposing than in light. I'm taken to William Bliss Baker's 1886 painting Fallen Monarchs, a painting of a forest of strong trees bathed in golden light, surrounded by the natural decay of time, fallen trees.
It's the natural process of life, to be cut down, to wither with time. For new growth, for someone else to shine, to be the darling. We pass through life, we pass off our lives to others. We shift responsibilities; we bless those who follow in our paths. Our paths become theirs.
Hopefully, we've cleared the rocks and paved it well.
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