Just Outside the Window.

There is a tree outside my window, with clouds of leaves that lift in the wind. The wind is too quiet to hear, but still the leaves flutter their paper-thin edges like wings. They do not fly far, tethered to the trunk by a network of branches. It is a gentle movement, deep inhale and exhale less steady than breathing, a rhythm that can be measured, but not predicted.

You are wondering what all this means. You are wondering what I am trying to say. I cannot tell you.

Somewhere out of sight, the sun pierces the cloud-muffled atmosphere for a moment, and suddenly the leaves are green, and bright. We think of color as something intrinsic (disregard the oddity of the chameleon's skin), but really everything depends on the light.

I cannot tell you because I do not know what I am trying to say.

But I'm certain that if we look deep enough, we will discover that it has something to do with God. He is the heart of everything. He is the wind that stirs us, the trunk that roots us, the sun that colors us, the window that shows us the world outside our own.

I know we have heard these metaphors before. We have heard them all our lives. And yet, we still don't understand.