Blogging on a Dare

So, Tim at Speckled Mind has challenged us to blog on beauty - I suppose as some form of resistance or protest against the gloom of winter and melancholy of Mondays. But I think Tim is probably just trying to trick us into irrational optimism. He is, after all, in the flower of his youth, and even the planetary tilt of the season may seem contestable to his overdeveloped appreciation for beauty and general cheerfulness.

I, on the other hand, am a curmudgeon with limited tolerance for such tomfoolery. However, I am also always up for a challenge, so here goes. Some observations on things that some of you might also find beautiful:

While no metaphorical treasury has been plundered as relentlessly and crassly as the seasons, I still find some visceral enjoyment in considering the life cycles of a year. In particular the trees right now - most of them down to their last few leaves and the evergreens slumped in quiet resignation to the burden they will again bear for much of the winter. There are responsibilities that come with being a tree, I suppose. While the coniferous trees dodge the ordeal of defoliation, they carry the aesthetic weight of suspended snow and gaudy lights. The smaller trees learn resiliance under the arcing and straightning of snowstorms and winds; the larger evergreens wince as their limbs droop, but most of the time nobody complains.

Size matters to trees. Well, to most trees. Those freakshow bonsai trees seem to have missed the point. But for the rest of the arbor universe, the goal is always growth, measured in feet and decades, knots and gashes, limbs and layers. And every year, the wind and cold of autumn strip a tree of its covering and its advance or decline is there for all to see. No deciduous tree gets too big and/or important to escape the seasonal disrobing, and in this way the trees enjoy great equality among themselves. In fact, I would guess that a big, naked elm endures much more scrutiny than the scrawny maple sapling.

I don't share many values with trees. I chafe at duty and resent transparency, and if I can convince you of strength without the risk of having my shoulders wrenched from their sockets, I will. The older and (presuambly) wiser I get, the greater the fear that a particularly sharp gust of wind will knock my leaves off and the garish stumps of failed limbs will horrify the people around me. I doubt that even a couple of strands of blue, blinking lights would help. Winter always comes, eventually, and with it the clarifying graces of its Creator.

There you go, Tim (and Sony). I've probably been played, but there will be many more days for crabby posts about the weather.