Stark beauty of winter trees
Photo by Steve Hines
There’s a stark beauty to winter trees. I’m fascinated by the intricacy of the branches that begin with thick, central trunks. They branch and soar and branch again, until there are thousands of delicate twigs pricking the chilled sky that surrounds them.
The anatomist in me can’t help but liken them to our own miraculous arterial system. Like trees, they begin with a central aortic trunk and end in feathery capillaries so fine they allow only single-file red blood corpuscles to deliver oxygen into the farthest reaches of our bodies. I like to think that William Carlos Williams, whose poem on winter trees I share below, might have noted these similarities as well. He was a 40-year career physician as well as an accomplished poet.
Winter Trees
All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the dis-attiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.
As I enjoy the ubiquitous silhouettes of winter trees in the landscape this time of year, I ponder how we humans also prepare for the winter in our own lives. There’s quite a spectrum, to be sure, but ultimately, the infirmities of advancing age and the consequences of serious illness, which edit both our abilities and our mindsets, force us to consider what’s ultimately important.
Like winter trees, we frequently shed our leaves, the accumulated trappings of a well-lived life. My Mom, who lived almost 95 years, downsized several times in the ten years preceding her death, intentionally simplifying her existence as her ability to maintain a household shrank and her priorities sharpened. Her example is frequently in my own mind these days, as I acknowledge my 70-plus years of life and hone my intentions for a meaningful, productive life in the time I have left.
The buds on a winter tree form with hopeful expectation that spring will come and allow new growth, perhaps even flowers. In humans, our preparation for winter and readying for spring might be mindfully preparing our loved ones to prosper and blossom (after necessary and appropriate grieving) in a life without us.
I am comforted by trees’ quiet resolve during the dark winter nights and inspired by their pared-down elegance. Words from the Book of Ecclesiastes woven into Pete Seeger’s song, Turn! Turn! Turn!, percolate in my head:
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven…”
May it be so.
This reflection was written by Stephen L. Hines, MD. He is an educator, speaker and physician. He is looking forward to serving on the Retreat House Spirituality Center’s Advisory Board in 2024.