Century Spruce
The cloud cover returns, loneliness lowers its voice. In contrast with a fire years ago, this one burns slow. Mysteriously and infinitely fueled, a flash in the pan? No. She only had to light the fish on fire once in college to learn not to add water. The flame shot up before her eyes, engulfed the ceiling and, by God's grace, only ever left a stain. While there are still high/low fluctuations, that's not where she is today.
Nestled in the corner of a cold Washington cabin in the woods, she looks on. What must be a century old remnant of an alpine spruce provides eternal warmth for her soul. How did these logs come to be? Rings so densely packed, precision and patience are required to truly account for all the years condensed into a simple yet fascinatingly complex cylinder.
On a mountain side, a sprout takes hold in rocky impossible earth. Winter after deadly winter overcomes this sprout but she keeps growing. There is no ‘gentile’ rain on this mountainside, Only biting winds, scorching summers, and resilience. A knowing and understanding that roots will grow deeper, and thus the spruce must spring taller. Slow, painstaking length…for a purpose.
While young lush greens in the valley are surrounded by abundance, rich soil, soft sunshine, bird songs, and immediate growth rewarded with extension - they are weak. A useless tool to keep warm. Dissolving into ashes moments following the task assigned. Meanwhile the strong century spruces overcomes lightning strikes, endless droughts, refusing to cease, and steadfast in expansion. If only a millimeter at a time, each season cements a memory on a new thread thin ring embraced by the ring that came before and with open arms to welcome what will come next.
This strength, and drive, and hardships overcome - this is the beauty generated on the hearth here. Otherworldly elegance and comfort and warmth crackles in the corner casting shadows over her sharp cheekbones. A soft smile emerges… Reflecting on why and how this heat finds her and remains. She is not so different from the spruce. She too is formed tight and deliberate with layers of endurance generated grit. Weathered, patient, and cloaked in gratitude for each storm. She too burns low, slow, in peace, and for a hundred years more.
