Meaning in the Winter Woods
Deep in the woods, the frail dry branches of the trees reach up to the heavens, straining to capture what little sunlight this January day has to offer. A few crisp brown leaves still cling tightly to the branches as they sway in the winter wind, though most have fallen down to forest floor below where they coat the frozen ground. At first glance, the forest and all that is in it seem dead. Dried up. Glory days behind them. Long past their prime. But if you listen, you will find, in the silence of the winter woods, a breath that still breathes. There is no finality in the slumber of these trees. No, their silence is merely a pause: a pause pregnant with hope. Hope that whispers of beauty to come. Of buds to blossom. Of vibrant tones of green amidst the brown. No, the Breather of Life is not finished here. There is more good to come. More glory to be unveiled. More of the song to be sung. And so the trees wait. They wait in the silence. They wait in the cold. In ...