Old Tree, New Tree

Over in the eastern corner of the front yard, the old Bradford pear tree is just about to bloom.  Right now, its branches are filled with buds, tightly rolled pearly bundles that will soon burst into azalea-like blossoms. The flowers linger for much too short a time before they fall to the ground as a late spring flower-snow.  Our pear tree is reliably “jumping the gun” like a racer so eager to fly down the tarmac that she bursts off the starting line too early. Soon the tree will be loaded with creamy confections, hundreds of them, lining the branches with their optimistic message declaring A New Season is Beginning. Despite the recent spells of below-freezing weather, the tree stubbornly follows a time table all its own. Unlike its cousin-variety pear trees, it produces no fruit save that of a beauty that dazzles the eye and feeds the soul.

I love this tree with its symmetrical shape and its limbs that point towards the sky.  I didn’t plant it, but inherited it from the original owner of our hill.  When this house was built a couple of decades ago, Bradford pears were all the rage, recommended by landscapers as good sources of fast-growing shade and seasonal beauty.  They fell out of favor as they aged. Their weak structure resulted in lots of broken limbs and split trunks that sometimes damaged fences and rooftops as they fell in the stiff winds that characterize Texas weather.   No longer are Bradford Pears on the most wanted list for home landscaping.  No matter. I’m glad whomever planted this tree years ago placed it just so, a few yards from the house in a spot that’s unlikely to cause damage should it fall. Old or not, it’s not done yet, and neither am I.  Year after year, new buds appear and blossoms follow. Year after year, I marvel.

The Bradford Pear does not know it has outlived its predicted lifespan.  It continues to do what it was created to do, giving all it has for as long as it can, whatever the season.  Bare limbs reach skyward in the winter. Optimistic buds usher in spring.  Summer’s heart-shaped leaves turn to a brilliant orange bounty that rustles in autumn’s breezes. Like faith, its old pattern endures, year after year.  Like faith, it responds to change, adapting to drought or rain, merciless summer heat or frigid cold. The season of spring is not yet here, but according to my old Bradford pear, it is. I pay attention to its Lenten message: The ages-old tradition of Lent still has much to offer me. There is newness here.  A New Season is Beginning. My soul blooms.

Today’s tile is of stylized trees with spiraling, spreading branches. It combines two of my favorite artistic motifs: spirals and trees.  It is neither a realistic picture of a Bradford Pear tree, nor any other kind of tree. Look closely and you will see some smaller drawings of things that the trees may shelter, but may not seem to “belong” there. These trees signifies faith to me, a growing, spiraling, green faith that shelters whomever comes within its reach.  The trees purpose is beauty; their nature, generosity.  What do you see in this abstract painting?  Is it faith, relationships, growth—or something else entirely?

…I saw a big towering tree at the center of the world.  As I watched the tree grew huge and strong.  Its top reached the sky and it could be seen from the four corners of the earth.  Its leaves were beautiful, its fruit abundant—enough food for everyone! Wild animals found shelter under it, birds nested in its branches, everything living was fed and sheltered by it.  Daniel 4: 10-12  The Message.