My predawn walk to the mailbox this morning was marked by the beauty of trees coated with snow. That kind of wet snow that clings to every branch creating the effect of a winter wonderland. The kind of winter scene we enjoy so much in December.
However, it is May. Magnolia trees are in full bloom. Our maple and ash trees sprout seeds and leaves. The grass is green and growing with enough vigor that we’ve already mowed and begun collecting grass clippings for mulch on the garden.
During my walk to the mailbox, I considered how pretty this record snowfall was in spite of its untimely arrival and planned to bring my camera out to capture this winter/spring visual delight when the sun was up.
Later, as I trudged through the snow, I faced the beauty and beast nature of this snowstorm. Snow against the raspberry sherbet redbud blossoms, the luxurious pink magnolia blooms, and the spring green tree leaves was striking in its beauty. However, already laden with heavy blossoms, the limbs of the magnolia tree drooped to the ground under the added weight. Some had cracked. Our old willow tree, already damaged by a heavy winter storm lost so many branches it’s hard to tell where the tree ends and the ground begins. Around me, the sound of tree limbs snapping punctuated the air. A beast tore through our landscape.
As I sit looking out my window, I mourn once-beautiful trees that appear to have had a bomb set off in the middle, I wonder if they’ll survive such an assault. I cannot help but think of the Boston Marathon. There, too, unexpected violence ripped apart a beautiful spring scene.
I take hope in that nature has a remarkable way of healing. Some of our trees may not survive. But I expect most of them will. The scars will be visible for years, perhaps forever, but the trees survive. In the Boston bombings, three people did not survive the assault. But most will. They’ll have scars, but most will survive. Nature and human nature. We survive.