Echo's Tree

In late fall, with long shadows criss crossing the park, I watched my son, Asher, swinging, as my daughter, Harper, slept in the stroller. It was warm for fall. I was feeling the desperation of winter following the recent explosion of relationships and bonds, and was left floating, helpless - because of the confusion, the cold, the isolation - in the freezing water under the cracked, thin ice. And then I noticed tree shadows, lying dark and determined in the playground sand. From behind me, the thick shadows extended like the arms of a protective giant on both sides, holding me up.

Wishing, wishing, wishing for words that would not come from a lost friend, I look up at a lovely white aspen's yellowing leaves. The air is still along the whole neighborhood block, but the leaves rustle with a small breeze, whispering, whispering, whispering.

Another argument as we walk home with the kids in a stroller. I want to run or fall below the street or be taken up to heaven right there. Instead, a wind pulls across a tall tree and leaves shower over my head.

So it is in trees, these days, that God reminds me He is here. He is holding me in his arms. He is talking to me. He is caressing my head. He is sending me beautiful quotes about trees when I feel desperate.

I read yesterday an article in Child about names and the impact names have on us. I know this, intuitively. Can it be the same for a blog? As I thought about a name for this blog, I began with Renoir's quote and thought about using a tree's name or a nymph's name. I looked up trees in myth and trees in the Bible and found the importance of trees in both.

And among the nymphs - tree nymphs, oak nymphs, water nymphs, ash tree nymphs - I rediscovered Echo, her ability to speak freely curtailed by Hera in jealous revenge so that she could only repeat what others said to her. She mourned Narcissus' death and was violently destroyed by Pan, envious of her music. Her pieces were scattered over the earth so that she still speaks in echoes.

Like a tree, I expect this blog to grow, to keep going with paths like limbs and branches, starting here and there. I might echo. I might rustle. I might sing, but without fear of Pan's envy.