Like a tree planted by a the winter.

Growing up in Arizona means that I am forever perplexed by two things: Daylight savings time, and trees in the winter. While daylight savings has taught me very little about life, trees in the winter consistently leave me in a state of wonderment. Although, it's not just trees in the winter that inspire awe, I suppose, it's the whole life cycle of trees. I love the beauty of the green, the variety of species and their leaves, the support they offer to the air we breathe, and so on. But what I respect most about trees, is their vulnerability; winter is when I find the trees the most beautiful.

Fully exposed, I am granted permission to see the knots, imperfect lines, hallowed spaces carved out by little creatures, and the overall structure that supports the green. The green which would so readily be classified as life, but upon closer inspection the tree proves it is just as much alive without its interesting shaded and shaped garments. It is when the tree has shed this outer layer, the fruits, the potential for admiration, that an on-looker can see its strength, its scars, and the structure which shapes everything about it. 

I have encountered many people that remind me of trees. They too inspire me, and reveal to me that there is beauty in all seasons; a mysterious kind of beauty in being exposed through vulnerability, which shows me what they are made of. I hope to be more like a tree. Vulnerability is the the key to true anything.