The Tallest Trees

I sit beneath the great windows that open to the tallest trees.

They have been my quiet witnesses — through storms, through seasons, through all the ways I have changed.

I have watched them bend and rise again, shake their leaves in protest or in prayer, and then — as if some invisible hand whispered peace — return to stillness.

That stillness speaks to me. It reaches from their roots to my heart, as though God Himself breathes through their calm.

Moment to moment, they change.

And yet, they never lose themselves.

Even stripped bare in winter, they do not question their purpose.

They wait. They trust. They know the leaves will come again.

I have learned from them.

That strength is not always in standing tall, but in standing true.

That beauty is not just in full bloom, but in every stage that leads there.

That stillness is not the absence of movement, but the soul finally resting in alignment with the wind.

As I watch their rustling turn to quiet, I feel my own spirit doing the same —

from one stillness to pure stillness,

from noise to knowing,

from reaching to being.

And in that moment, I realize —

the tallest trees have not only given me shade,

they have given me strength.