The Norway spruce outside my windows, keeper of nest and cone, giver of green and hope, whose branches shelter chickadees and nuthatches, give shade to low sleepers and smokers, the evergreen which rises so much higher than our patios and gardens as guardian or champion, today punches at the wind and sleet with muscular branches tossing needles and darkness onto my sills and suddenly I am afraid, the world is wild, the father tree has returned and he is not in a good mood. I close the blinds and gather my pets. "Pay no attention," I whisper as blowdown smashes concrete nearby. "The tree will love us again in the spring."
A loving protector turns suddenly angry and threatening - all you can do is gather your pets and wait for spring.
O fierce tree! Storms bring out strange energies in all of us....
Thank you for this, Jude.