Strong winds blew down a swath of
trees -- leaving jagged trunks jutting from the
earth.
Driving by a
few days later, we shook our heads and sadly recalled how beautiful the land
used to be.
I grumbled
against the wind.
Good hearted
loggers tried to clean it up a bit -- by clearing some of the windfall. Their
honest efforts,
however,
seemed more an invasion of nature than a healing. Their cuttings left deep
scars, cold and stark.
I drove by,
shook my head, and grumbled against the loggers.
The burning
followed. How the fire started is still a puzzle -- perhaps a lightening strike,
an engine spark, or a
careless cigarette. Regardless of the start, it took the firefighting volunteers
a full effort for the finish.
Acres of charred stubble marred the landscape.
I grumbled
against the fire.
But passing
time has a way of healing scarred soil and human hearts. From blackened ground,
new life
emerges.
Twelve
seasons later, quite by accident, we happened upon the barren place and were
amazed to find bushes
loaded with raspberries -- and a new patch of wild blueberries growing near the
earth!
We joyfully
filled a couple of ice cream buckets with sweet
treasure.
Before
dinner that evening, we bowed our heads, thanked God for the berries
and
Blessed the
wind,
Blessed the
loggers and
Blessed the
fire.
Excellent thought. It reminds me of my life, singed eyebrows and all.
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