The Cottonwood Tree

It shies not from the wind nor rain, snow nor burning sun. Standing sentinel behind the house it serves as shade, landmark, anchor for the hammock, obstacle for the lawn mower, and all-season weather station.

From my window every morning I look to see whether those slim and sturdy branches hold snow. In the spring they change daily to give me a view of slowly growing buds, come summer they blossom to pretty green leaves the sun loves to filter through. All through the hot, bright days those beautiful leaves keep the majority of heat away as they cast waving shadows on the ground and keep time to the summer breeze.

The cottonwood's strong branches reach for the stars once the light burns down in the west, they whisper tales of archers and queens, twins and bears, throughout the storied night. They hold a perch for the robin to announce morning's gradual approach. They soften even more the light that comes flooding over the fields to chase the moon to it's bed over the horizon.

The robin's song wakes the sparrow, the two join in harmony to sing God's praises through the foliage of the cottonwood tree. The resident dog, awake and territorial and vocal, adds the baritone from below then chases the birds to the fence, and back again to their safe and lofty branch.

When the frost finally comes again and the green leaves fade to yellow, then red, then brown, the dog barks at the cottonwood tree as it releases it's glorious rain of color, reminders of the cycle of life.

Too soon the branches left stark against the cold sky are cloaked in white. They shiver in the throes of the bitter west wind, but they hold fast for the hope of spring. Wind and hail beat at it's bark but the cottonwood tree has survived many such storms and has learned how to bend with the gusts, how to absorb the snow's moisture in preparation for the summer drought. The tree wears frost like a robe of diamonds, her limbs glistening brightly in the sun that brings no warmth to soften the ice.

Then come the rains, the cottonwood tree drinks the water greedily. The rain brings sunshine after, and heat to melt the earth that cradles the roots, deep and sure. Ever so gradually buds appear on the tips of the branches and wave cheerfully to the robin to begin his spring song.

The cottonwood tree has lived another year in tandem with the wind, the snow, the rain, the sun, the cold and the heat. It's branches climb high to tell the world that this is how you live. Stand strong, shelter those that need refuge, give what you can for the life around you, and learn to use what the winds throw at you.