Letter to Elise, No. 8
Perhaps you don’t know that trees have a story to tell. Whether they stand still, sway monotonously to the beat of your breath, or bend violently from side to side as you do sometimes, they are perhaps the best storytellers. Their leaves — transparent green, summery rigid papyrus, yellowing and falling with a clatter to the ground at your feet — my handwriting understands the whole story. In their veins, as well as in your veins, all seasons alternately succeed each other. Sometimes you want to live wantonly on the wind, listening to the sounds of the summer, covered in gold leaf, circling in the dance and go too soon, after a few minutes of silence, to be born again. That’s why, when you’re alone, you almost unbearably want to fly down the Emerald Tablet of time, touch it to the tree, just linger, hug recklessly as if the tree — as if the tree is me and, in between breaths, becoming the tree, and finding me. Believe me, all this complexity is simplicity. The simplicity of God, Elise.
Today’s Sunday Stamps, fittingly, celebrates the color red. Stop by and see red for yourself.