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What Do We Know of Sorrow?
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Does the redbud tree ache with sorrow when the reach of autumn wrenches the leaves she has nurtured since their first budding in spring?
Do the blades of the daffodil seek solace when their bright buttercups collapse at the end of their short bright lives?
Does the Myer lemon tree weep sap when the wind steals away her white flowers that promised fruit for the season?
I don’t know.
I do know the ache of sorrow, the need for solace and the expression of weeping in the face of loss.
I know that life brings these changes.
Consider the redbud tree. By the end of summer, her deep red, palm size leaves have faded to green, the edges lacing up and pulling in tired of the sun. When they release their hold and lay upon the earth, morning dew drops settle in their centers and reflect the vast blue sky above.
With the branches empty, spring can cluster up balls of red promise that will stretch into new leaves, new life.
Maybe the redbud tree knows more than we imagine, that change and loss aren’t seedlings for sorrow but for hope. Like the blades of the daffodil and the heart of the Myer lemon, we need only to trust in the Mystery that carries us all into the next season.

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