Empty Container

"I am not bound for any public place,

but for ground of my own

where I have planted vines and orchard trees,

and in the heat of the day,

climbed up into the healing shadow of the woods."

Wendell Berry

The presence of my  Spirit is simply gone.  Like an empty container, I wander the house looking for what I have lost.  I feel so empty and cold, lacking in substance and depth.  Quickly dressing, I leave my home and immediately feel the sun shining upon my face.  Out of sync, I push myself forward down the street.  

The wind is swaying the heavy branches of the trees as though greeting me.  Looking up, I see the magical colors fading from the gently shaped leaves.   I admire the strength of all trees, and I find myself thankful for their sturdy presence.  

Propped against a tree, I idly watch children swinging on the park swings and rambunctious little boys racing down the slides.  A sense of softness creeps back into me. The  tree which is holding me up,  gently fills me with strength, appreciation, and gratitude.  Naked feet on the ground, I feel my roots sinking deeper in to the richness of this earth.  

With tears gently streaking my face, I feel unburdened and more alive.  I then  hear the whispers of all holiness ... "I am always here."  Sigh.