Strong winds destroyed a swath of trees — leaving jagged trunks jutting from the earth.
Driving by, a few days later, I shook my heads and sadly recalled how beautiful the land used to be.
I grumbled against the wind.
Good-hearted loggers tried cleaning it up a bit — by clearing the windfall debris. Their honest efforts seemed more of an invasion than a healing. Their cuttings left cruel scars, cold and stark.
Driving by the destruction, I shook my head, and grumbled against the loggers.
The burning followed. How the fire started is still a puzzle — perhaps a lightening strike, or careless cigarette. Regardless of the start, it took the firefighting volunteers a full effort for the finish. Acres of charred stubble marred the landscape.
I grumbled against the fire.
But passing time has a way of healing scarred soil and human hearts. From blackened ground, new life emerges.
Twelve seasons later, quite by accident, we happened upon the barren place and were amazed to find bushes loaded with raspberries — and a new patch of wild blueberries growing near the earth.
Before dinner that evening, we bowed our heads, and gave God thanks for the berries and
Blessed the wind,
Blessed the loggers,
Blessed the fire.