I spent about an hour earlier today staring at, and meditating on, a tree outside my window. I came to the conclusion that I like trees.
When it rains, it drinks the water. When it is sunny it bathes in the warm light. When it is neither it doesn’t sit and fret about when it will rain again, or when the sun will return. It sits and waits until they do, nothing more. When the cold winds of winter come along, it does not desperately try to cling to it’s falling leaves, instead it lets them go and goes about just being a tree, knowing the leaves will one day return. When the wind blows on it, it doesn’t tense up and push back, it lets itself sway in the wind. When birds build their nests or squirrels scamper about it’s branches, it does not feel used or try to make them stop and leave, it accepts it’s place and it’s role and goes on about just being a tree. It accepts it’s ever-changing place in the ever-changing world around it, and does so without anxiety, sadness, or resistance.
So, yeah. I like trees.