My husband titled his master’s thesis, “Tree Symbolism”.  My spouse loved trees as symbols and in themselves.  However, not in the leafy green state of the deciduous nor the ever green state of the coniferous, but the skeletal, bare bones state of forests in winter.  Being aware of the above, for many years, now, I cannot look at the empty arms of a tree lifted against a winter sky without reflection.

So, on a freezing cold, sunny winter morning when my brother invited me to take a long country ride into the Pocono Mountains, I agreed.  We passed large swaths of naked trees standing solid and forthright reaching for the sky.  The wind was fairly high causing the sound of wind-sheer to punctuate the conversation between my brother and  me.  Outside, the trees did not move.

Trees in winter, organic underpinnings, stalwart and resolute, like the essence of motherhood, often unseen and forgotten, but always present ready to spring forth shade and comfort when needed.

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