Let Me Tell You A Story

There is a section of sandy beach near my house that seems to be the collecting place for limbs, logs, even full-grown trees that have been deposited there by rising and falling tides, useless items often scarred and broken. Given the shape and location of the beach, it has become the final stop for the fatally wounded. And sometimes I feel called to the place to walk among the debris and listen to the dramas of suffering and destruction.

Everything has a story. For instance, most of the trees show signs of fire damage. Black gashes, charred shreds of bark are common. They tell of great forest fires that ravaged many acres of fine timber. Some of the stately victims fell or were dumped into rivers and finally released to the open ocean. Over time, benevolent tides gave them a final home here in this bay, gently laying them to rest. Their stories, while sad to hear, remind me of life’s unpredictability and the power of nature to interact with humanity.

Once in a while I find a remarkable example of beauty in the midst of these fallen giants. Case in point. Beneath the burned bark of the tree in the foreground is a brilliant color that almost glows in the bright sun. Orange and almost-reds are vibrant. My guess is that if the burned bark of the other trees was stripped away, there would be a feast of unique beauty unrivaled by the artist’s canvas.

I drove out of the parking lot toward home with two conclusions: All living things have stories to tell, all living things, and I restrict my own humanity by not listening to them. And, all creatures and creations on this little dot of life in the universe possess a beauty unique to themselves, a beauty that, when revealed, blesses and expands the world.