Tree Hugger

On my hike yesterday, I became wildly tangled in metaphor. Yes, this is another Radnor-themed/inspired post. But this isn't a subtle way to brag about my fitness regimen. Rather, an embarrassing confession of my infrequency and lack of commitment (see date on previous post). But I digress.
It seems the last few weeks have brought a smattering of storms across the Nashville area (spoiler alert: storms=metaphor for trials, go figure). There had been heavy casualties in the woods surrounding the lake. Trees newly fallen and strewn about. As I wandered hiked energetically down the path, I saw large, splintered branches and young saplings that shared the same fate. Sturdy, rooted giants were felled while less established trees nearby defied reason to remain standing. I questioned the fairness and physics. Hearty trunks toppled across the path, but someone had gone ahead of me, carving out a swath of road. Old rotting lumber told the history of previous storms, charred by the flames created by lightning and extinguished by rains from the same storm. New growth sprung from the death...irregular, spongy mushrooms and luscious, green algae. Not pretty, but alive and useful.
This is the post that I wrote (in my head) on the first half of my hike yesterday. Before the winds kicked up, the rain came down, the lightning flashed. There was a lost key, a deserted parking lot, and three hours of waiting in wet clothes. Before long, the romantic notion of metaphorical storms breaks down, and it's just dark, scary, and pouring. But a path is cleared by concerned friends, a warm shower, a good night's sleep and sunshine in the morning. Maybe even something new will grow. It may not be pretty, but alive and useful nonetheless.