Saturday, 22 September 2018
I AM sitting at my desk with the sun streaming in and a view of bare trees against a blue, blue sky.
The winter shapes of the trees stand out stark against the blue, more defined than in the summer when their leaves disguise their structure.
In the sun their colour is indescribable; not green, not grey, not yellow, but a mixture of all three.
Bare branches, entwined, knobbly, but clearly standing out, throw shadows on to the smooth grey trunks.
A single holly bush, aspiring to become a tree, sits solid and green among the tracery of branches.
A beautiful scene; silent, still — and cold!
These bright winter days are deceptive. From inside a warm cosy room they tempt me out and when I open the door my breath catches and my eyes water.
But the freshness and the cold are bracing, energising, challenging and I stride out under the bare trees feeling even in February a welcome warmth of the sun on my shoulders.
It brings with it a promise of the warming days of spring and the hope of a warm, dry summer of barbecues and picnics.
The Bible has a story of how all this beauty, and the order inherent in time and seasons, came into being.
A poetical telling of how God spoke the universe into being, for seven days, until his creation was full of life and variety and beauty.
The phrase “Let there be” and the repeated sentence “and God saw that it was good” bring a rhythm and an expectation as the story unfolds until, with the creation of mankind, “God saw all that he had made and it was very good”.
Whatever you think of this story — myth, poetry, the word of God, a historical account, or total fabrication — it holds two important truths.
The world is full of beauty and wonder with, I believe, love at the heart of all things.
And people, in this account, are the completion of creation, not owners, not consumers, but here to love and care for it.
For a “myth” that’s some pretty significant truths — ones we could all live by and be happier for it.
19 February 2018
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