My thoughts are still like a pond in the dead of winter.
I spend so much time looking, waiting for something to agitate the cacophonic silence. As I ponder the enduring stillness, time rolls on and soon the sun arcs to its peak.
The warmth comes on slowly until I’m unknowingly basking in the light.
Eventually the glare off the mirrored surface awakens me to the external, and as sudden as the warmth seemed to appear so too does an epiphany:
In my search for something to stand out I failed to realize my simple state of being.
The glare on the water, the bitter sting of frozen air, warmth propagating in the frigid environment.
It is just as it is; some might see a dormant tree and wish it were awake, so they could admire its beauty, just as I waited for something to break the lull.
But if the tree is always in bloom, is it as beautiful as the first flowering after its long absence?
If the pond is always in motion, do we stop to marvel at the harmony of ripples gliding effortlessly over its face?
Suddenly the noise of silence subsides; in its place a euphonic symphony of pure existence.
I have my answer.
I am distinct in the same way one oak is different from another.
At a glance every oak looks just like the one next to it, just another face in the crowd.
But when I look at it; really look at it, not just direct my gaze towards it; I begin to see.
The maze of lines on it’s bark, the web of limbs it wears proudly as a crown, the branch that could’ve sprung forth from anywhere on the trunk... but didn’t.
And I look at the one next to it.
It has the same bark, but a labyrinth of lines as different as a fingerprint.
Its crown is a bit smaller as is the whole tree, yet no less extravagant.
The trunk branches off where it does and raises its arms to the sky in praise of the entropic nature of Nature.
Both with the intricacies of eons before.
Different, but perfect as it is, because that’s all it could ever be.
Unique