Willow and Gopher Wood.

I strolled with Sharyn through Tucker Park down to the river's edge this evening. There we found willows hanging their graceful limbs over the water's edge without a thought to the days when they will get wrenched at and torn apart by a raging torrent during flood time. After it passes they will flop back into their space and hang their boughs in their contented pose, without a mind for what has just passed, and get on with being willows. If only I could do the same with the tensions of life that wash over the soul and rip at its being. The time will come, I am sure, it will come and I will float within such a noahic redemption. In fact, it is already here if I look closely.