The Beauty of Change

A poem on the teachings of an old tree

I once met a tree.

A glorious, old tree with arms branching in every direction, fingertips adorned with leaves the deepest of green.

It drew me near and never let me go. Though I eventually moved on, I carried it with me, just as it remained bound to its place.

In the middle of a bustling city, this tree was planted in a sidewalk surrounded by concrete, given only a certain amount of room to grow. It was covered in scars - gnarled stumps where branches had been cut away to make space for buses passing alongside and electric wires overhead.

And so it continued to grow, despite the setbacks, flourishing in spite of the constant reshaping forced upon it over the years.

I think back to that tree during times of change. I think of its broad trunk and sprawling roots, its beauty, and its perseverance.

I think about how it had become such a thing, an entire being of its own making.

It owned completely the space it was given, even if, at times, it may not have been clear what space it would have; even if, at times, its very existence was in doubt.

Sometimes change feels overwhelming. Uncertainty about what comes next masks itself as a certainty that what comes next is the end.

Sometimes change feels challenging.

But, with it comes growth in new directions. With it comes the possibility to reach new heights. With it comes the promise of unparalleled beauty.