The Cedar Tree

Growing up where I did hope was tangible. There was the pain, sadness of events, the dreariness of the fog, damp cold a constant. My Dad would say with a laugh, "don't like the weather just wait the wind will switch it." Sure enough, the wind would kick up the fog would be gone. Followed by sunny blue skies. Smiles all around. One day my Dad took me to see a special tree. We took a long hike up a rocky slope to find this tree, to make a pilgrimage. I think what struck hope into me was defined by a cedar tree, gnarled, twisted, majestic, alone, growing out of a rock on a cliff above the great lake. Growing, thriving in unforgiving circumstances taking everything that nature could throw at it. Yet still it lived. Beautiful in its tenacity to survive. I shared my Dad's fascination with that tree. I thought to myself if a seed can find what it needs out of a rock, I guess I can too.