Thoughts From A Park

The Summer is maturing. The blazing tyranny of his youth is cooling to the warm colors of Fall. Perfect lemonade weather, although watermelon juice dribbling down chins is a good substitute.

He is good always.

The breezes visit more often now. The Sun spends less time showing off and gives more to Selene. My friendship with the swimming pool is deteriorating. It will be replaced by laced shoes and long sleeves very soon.

I can tell by the trees. They all bear yellow tidings of Fall's approach. Everywhere they are crowned with golden wreaths - timber royalty. And if you look closely, there are crimson hints tucked into the branches, foreshadowing scarves and rakes and hand-holding in the park.

These trees will be redheads soon - and bald after that. They make me think of the trees in my Bible. The trees that make up its pages; the Tree that makes up its core. I wonder if some mighty fir knew why its rings were felled. Did it know that its heartwood strength would be drained and transformed into a strength palatable to a mercy-groping soul?

And I wonder if the Tree that was cut to make crossbeams knew what holy blood would be spilt on it. Did it know how many debts would be nailed to it's shorn bark, after passing though the flesh of the God-man? Did anyone know that the sweltering heat of divine wrath would be lessened by the death of a tree and the death of the Son?

I did not know. But I know now. And I glory and worship. Drink your lemonade with me and praise the God of redheads and royalty and redemption.