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  • Writer's pictureAdam

Must I cross this bridge again to be a better man?

A peaceful day in the woods feels familiar and concrete. The trees I see among me are familiar and pleasant. They are a joy to me. Maybe it is one of the reasons I trek in these woods instead of finding another.

There are many other woods around me. Some are bigger with more trees and more stories. Others are smaller but with charm. They can bring an atmosphere within it's fortress that is welcoming at times while others can be disappointing. For what else could we expect? The wind blows and the temperature changes. Some tree roots sadly don't run deep.

But, these woods I find myself in feels like home. Maybe because I used to work these woods in a younger body, but that time has passed. Or maybe it's because I feel I have investment amongst the trees. I still have a care for them and they for me. I very much wish for the woods to continue to grow and flourish. Times of changing will come though and the wind will inevitably blow.

Just recently, we lost a patch of tall older trees that shook our forest. It came as a sudden break. Some tell me that their fall from our forest had been brewing in the treetops. Although I can not confirm. I tend to walk closer to the roots and are blind to all that happens above me.

But do not be discouraged reader, there is still joy in our woods. A new patch of trees have joined our humble woods that add shade in the heat of day and cover when storms roll in. The sun shines on them revealing their beauty in the daylight as I walk by them. I smile and am thankful.

There is a bridge in our woods that I love to cross. It is truly beautiful with a stream running beneath it. To me, it brings a sense of peace. The beckoning time at the bridge causes me to stop and ponder the Creator of our small woods. I become still and silent. Here is where my awe for our Potter is cultivated.

Thankfully this moment isn't special to only the bridge. Rather it carries with me throughout every inch of our woods and even when I depart it's premises. It's truly a beauty to behold.

But lately I have had mixed feelings as I walk in our woods. The limbs in the treetops seem to be louder as they blow. They are sturdy trees with deep roots so I do not fear their fall. But then again I do not know how far their roots go. For that matter, I don't know the depths of the roots of any of our trees. I only see how tall they grow, assuming their roots must be deep.

This bridge that I love so much is now being replicated in other parts of our woods. At first, it was something to get used to. I love it's beauty so it was nice to see it more than once as I walked about. But more and more bridges were built. Each to replicate the beauty of the original.

I suddenly became disturbed. As one with great respect and admiration for what the bridge brings to our woods, it suddenly felt cheapened. Others around me love the multiplication of these bridges. It seems that the more they cross the more they feel. I do not feel that same sentiment.

Am I in the wrong? Do I create complaints that secretly go against the advancement of the woods? I suddenly feel more alone as I walk in the woods. I feel like talking about what I feel only tears down of what others hold dear.

I start to question myself. "Does crossing all these bridges give me a better perspective of our Potter in our woods? Does it make me a better walker amongst the trees? A better man the more I cross and strive to feel?"

Where was the harm of one bridge that made us reflect? Where the focus was not on what the bridge made us feel but rather on what it turned our focus to?

I no longer turn the soil of these woods nor trim it's trees. Nor do I want that job. I respect those who work the trimmers and clear the walking path. They are a great service to the trees that stand tall in our woods.

I long for my own heart to be more in awe of the Creator of these woods that I have walked in all these years. I wish the same sentiment for others.

Feelings come and go. I do not wish these woods to be hinged on it's impact.

I miss the still. I miss the quiet.

I miss the simple walk across the bridge in the woods amongst the trees.

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