My Centurion

It's not really a centurion. It's not mine, either. But, each time I drive into the valley to the city there it stands on the north side of the road. In the Spring it sprouts beautiful green buds. In the Summer it holds a gorgeous green canopy aloft for any cow or horse who might happen beneath it. In the Fall it gracefully changes into outfits of orange, gold, and red. Finally, as Winter approaches it releases all of its leaves in elegant acceptance of storms to come. It never bows and it never bends. It's too tall, too strong, and too old. Some of its branches have given their all, but remain erect, empty and connected to those of health and hope all around them. It's the contrast of the two - the bountiful and the barren - that speaks profound eloquence. My Centurion reminds me of the same within me, within all of us. The bountiful and the barren live together in celebration of the present with arms reaching skyward towards the Creator of All.