I didn’t have to go far to find a plant in whose presence I wanted to meditate. I have a young maple tree, planted a few years ago, growing near my house. I observed it using both my vision and my tactile senses.
Its leaves are beginning to turn brown, perhaps from disease, heat stress or the coming fall. As I touched them, I realized that they still feel “alive” and waxy, rather than dry and rough as they will once they fully die. The mottled surface drew in my eye as the green fades into various shades of brown.
The tree as a whole reminds me of a lanky teenager. It seems to sprout up each passing day, growing in height much more quickly than in circumference. Its shadow is small enough that, to find shade beneath it, one would need to move around again and again. I wonder what that is, to be a few decades removed from my adolescence–do I now cast a wider shadow? Has the frame of my existence filled out? What replaces growth as season after season passes by? I’m on the cusp of beginning to crinkle and develop some age spots. The tree seems content in its inbetween-ness, can I find the same easiness of presence?
Where are you at in the growth-transition-dying cycle of life, either overall or in a specific area? What is drying up and what is staking out its place in the horizon?