I consider turning around, but I have always loved walking at dawn in any kind of weather...soft rain or icy, light snow or full-on blizzard, and when cold temperatures make fine movements impossible given the many layers I wear. Naw, today's wind isn't gonna stop me.
Still, when I get to the lake I choose the path that takes me into the trees for the protection they offer. I soon step off the trail, walk a few yards, and settle on the eastern side of a copse of scrub oak.
The tree's botanical name is Quercus gambelii or Gambel Oak, named after William Gambel, a naturalist of the early 1800s. The Colorado Native Plant Society describes the tree as "small but mighty, able to tolerate rocky soil, high winds, heavy snow, fire, and drought."
They also tend to grow in colonies, and today I am welcomed into their community where they provide a spot of relative calm from which to gaze down upon the turbulent waters of the lake, a stormy-gray this morning rather than their usual reflection of cobalt sky.
Whitecaps run rapidly across the surface, and I am reminded of childhood views of Assawoman Bay on Maryland's eastern shore. Its waves were softer than the Atlantic's, but would roll in endless succession across the lagoon, just as these below me do now.
As the wind roars through the branches of the grove beside me, it flattens the wild grasses of the meadow at the bottom of the hill. I know those plants reach nearly waist-high, but today they lie down, modeling flexibility in the face of a force stronger than they.
Birds, though, continue to fly. I like to think they're enjoying themselves, testing their mettle against the elements, perfecting an inborn ability to use the wind's currents to creatively get where they need to go despite its bluster.
A small, yellow bird lands on a branch nearby where I can hear its song despite the yowling of the wind. Listening to these sounds, I wonder how I'm going to work into this writing the simple quotation that has stayed with me from Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier.
Two brothers are parting, knowing they will likely never again lay eyes upon each other in this world. Finbar looks at Conor and says, "Sometimes the way is dark." Conor replies, "There is light within." He then reaches out to gently touch Finbar's brow, and walks off.
Both of these young men speak true. Darkness, shape shifter that it is, can take many forms. Each one of us can recount tale after tale of hardships we've encountered throughout our days. This is simply the way of things.
A full experience of living does not come through denying the truth of adversity or the wounds it may impart. It can also never arrive by giving suffering full sway. Light exists too. In this world of opposites, we need to allow space for both.
Fierce winds howl and small birds sing. We are harmed and we are helped. We despair and we rejoice. And sometimes we need to surrender in the face of a formidable force, just as do tall grasses in a field.
At other times, we must find a way to fly onward as the birds do on this tumultuous morning, testing our resolve and perfecting our innate capacity to creatively fashion a path to our heart's desire.
To determine how best do this, we must figuratively touch our own brow, as Connor did for Finbar. This is the place of the third eye, the metaphoric seat of wisdom, intuition, clear vision and discernment. We will need all of these to negotiate our flight through this world.
Life is a mixture of darkness and light, it is true. We must make peace with that fact, as we strengthen our ability to meet well the vicissitudes of this world. We may be small, but we are mighty too, like the Gambel Oak, with an inborn capacity to find the wisdom to see us through.
When it is called for, I wish you safe surrender, my friend. And may you also creatively fly on to that which calls, shining your inner light while gracing the world with your true and magnificent song.
Much love, sturdy bird!
Leia
