Recently, I embarked on an annual fall pilgrimage to the Green Mountains. It is a trip that I make a priority in my spiritual transition from the warm, hazy hot days of summer to the brisk, crisp autumn days of September and October.
On this special day, the sky was an azure blue color that commanded attention. I felt excited as I drove up the winding mountain road to the campus of the local academic institution that is so important to the vibrancy of the college community in New England. The reason that I was reflective and moved to emotional heights was that I was going to pay homage to a proud, sturdy group of trees that were seeded in the ground in 1916.
That year was monumental because it was the very year that my loving mom was born. Growing up, my mom often related to me and to the family that she had felt an affinity to these trees. I believed that she liked to identify with a concept that these very trees were, in fact, planted in her honor.
All through my childhood and as a family, we never walked through this grove of trees. I had decided that this was the fall that I would actually get out of my car and journey among these magnificent trees. These were beautiful and restorative moments for the journey of grief due to the passing of my mom.
The height of the trees I equated to be equal to the same essence of pride. I experienced a shelter among these trees as powerful as a mother’s protection for her daughter or son. On one occasion, I gazed skyward to the utmost extremities of the branches and my eyes rested upon the beckoning sun filtering its light down to a cool forest floor.
The origin of this light emanated from the jewel blue sky upon a daughter that was deeply moved to record this moment with a photograph that I will treasure until I repeat this pilgrimage again in the spring.
