If a Tree, if a Man, Falls in the Forest: A Different Kind of Wild

Incredible and important thoughts from my dear friend Lindsey, a Nashville street chaplain.

Dry Bones Rattling

Oak in winter I rest here in this Lenten time between winter and spring, this “time of tension between dying and birth” as T.S. Eliot says, this time where the green energy of the world is just beginning to seep upward, out of the frozen ground and into tender blades of grass, flawless shoots of leaf.  I rest here in the last light of the day pondering the bare twisted branches of oaks. I can still feel the warmth of the fading light on my face, but the breeze is getting cooler as the sun rolls to some other patch of earth.

My whole being craves the light, the warmth, the energy seeping back into foliage. Like a moth, I shift out of shadows, fluttering towards ribbons of light, drinking the warmth into my every fiber, every cell. We still have a number of freezes and frosts to come, but we are finally,

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