Shouldn't…but Do

On New Year’s Eve my children and I were on late night walkabout.  No snow, a breeze, lit homes and a last show of Christmas lights along roof lines, lamp posts, and in the trees.

Up the street, the pin oaks were whispering louder than usual.  We stopped to note the conversation.  White pines said little and the deciduous trees were downright silent.

Rounding home, our Norway spruce stands over 20 feet now, festooned with lights, pine cones for ornaments.  It caught my attention as my children ran in the house.

Deep, brilliant, dark, with majestic green leader pointing toward a waxing moon half hidden by clouds.  The tree spoke of  shifting years, of mystery and invitation to the unknowable – an eternal, ephemeral moment.  How far can flesh and blood go into that beckoning?  How far can a cellular creature blend and survive?  Never has the question, or the invitation, been more concrete.

I wonder.