I stop and face it. The roots of an old cedar spread like latticework across the slope on the trail ahead of me. Mid-conversation I am frozen. This is wonderment. My walking companion continues on without me, but for some reason I am struck silent and still. These roots laid bare, exposed by erosion, but still holding the thin rocky soil of the forest in place. Oblivious, hundreds of human feet travel up and down this hillside day after day, vibram soles and flip flops alike doing their compacting work. The soil between each twisting root branch is beaten down and stripped until it is clear it is only this ancient tree that is holding it all together. Gripping the earth like a fist grasps a ball. An Entish topography preventing the hillside from collapsing in a tumble of rock and dirt the next time it rains.What holds us together?
I let my eyes travel across the maze of roots on the slope. Tracking the path of each branch, under and over and under again, looking for a sense of where they lead. But each time one crosses another they merge or become lost to an unknown underground world.
These roots are holding fast, and are doing their job to break down stone to create new soil. Their persistence is like a reminder to me. To wait and be patient like trees are, but not for anything in particular. Allowing the world to move at whatever pace it needs, without needing to follow or keep up or move at a speed faster than my own. To hold fast, to have faith in and remember who I am. To remember and know again what is held inside my own root ball. To heed the gentle reminders of wind, sun and rain as they brush against my leaves and branches - and all the beings who remind me daily of what is good, and right and safe in this world. To keep doing my work in the breaking down of stone, however subtle or unseen it might be.
