the foyer

This is TREES III, the final piece of the series! Before you begin, know these are not the words I expected to write. In my mind, I'd fast-tracked to a compelling tale about what college has been like for me: seven semesters and three summers. I worked on it for weeks, but I'm still so close, too close, to understand it all. Maybe that story will come later; for now, here's what I have, written today.

It's been three and a half years in a college town. To use a seemingly unlikely metaphor, Clemson's been a foyer. Fairly small yet good for beginnings, entertaining for a short while. Doors on all four walls, pathways to possibility. In my mind, the foyer's got a tree burgeoning in the center and the tree is me. 

The Foyer was grand for a small sprout, unexplored and thrilling. 'Til the end, it has been nurturing and kind. Inside, I've learned to stay soft, to be bold. I've learned the world is big and emotions are ok. I've learned what kind of company I like to keep, and that life is brimming with purpose. Each of them deserve their own essay, someday.

Ok, back to the Foyer. A time came when I thought I'd outgrown it. I no longer fit. My branches pressed against thick walls, twined 'round doorknobs. Leaves littered the hardwood. I wanted more than what was inside.

Not fitting was a half-truth in ways I'm not sure how to articulate yet. Growth was happening and growing pains are good. And there's something to be said for sticking around. Time kept its pace as doors opened and branches shot through, allowing for roaming and remaining to coexist. A God-breathed phenomenon, I'm sure. 

Now, at the risk of being cliche, it is time to uproot. Ring turned, I am ready. I've flourished I hope, Wisely & Slow. 

...and so the last leaf falls. I watch the descent with a wide grin, for the Foyer let a good thing grow.

WWLT: Wisely & Slow - The Staves // The Current State of Things - Noah Gundersen

Answers to FAQ (aka what's next for me):

I just finished college with a Communications degree. I'll be staying in Clemson through the spring, leading Young Life and working a part-time job of some sort, soaking up time with friends. Hopefully I'll have some opportunities to travel, but my biggest goals are to make/save money, and to learn to play drums.

I feel the closing of a chapter without its finality. I don't have to say goodbyes yet, but I've been introspective all the same, preparing for all the "lasts" in the coming months. Next, I hope to return to Nashville and find a job I love. Stay tuned!

L: 1/4/14, Christmas break freshman year. I spent a few days in/around Columbus, NC with five friends; it changed the trajectory of my life. While I don't see most of them on a regular basis, I'm always glad our paths crossed.

LC: 9/11/14, I've spent many days in this tree out at Chattooga Belle Farm. This day I took my friend Bailey to see the magic of the treehouse. Lots of memories w/ people I love are here; so is my illegible left-handed signature.

RC: 10/26/14, from Max Patch Mtn. Brianna, Abby and I spent a perfect autumn day there. When I think of it I hear Beyond the Blue by Josh Garrels. 

R: 1/22/16: Last year, it snowed late on a Friday night. It'd been a rough week; after some convincing, I joined my friends outside and marveled at the white winter trees, taking photos as we ran around campus.

a talk with the trees

trees II: a poem. As of late, I make my way to class alone, lost in whatever song's in my ears laid over my fast-firing thoughts. On October 26th, I stared up at the trees as I passed Martin, Kinard, Daniel. I noticed they didn't move. I thought it odd; I know trees stay planted, roots in the earth, but it's like I realized it for the first time. So I followed my mind's unlikely trail, asking the trees questions in my head. 

“today’s a day I wish the trees could talk
silent and tall, my questions unanswered.

no running, speaking, feeling.
do you wish for a different purpose?

”stay, grow, wait. trust.” he says.
do you long to wander?

your leaves for my breath.
do you wish he loved you that way?

green, bright, barren, back again.
do you ever tire of the tired cycle?

what’s on your mind?
do you have one?

i love you.
i wonder if he lets you love.

——————

warm, lively, bright.
i am none of the three.

why?
you didn’t make me to be.
why?
i don’t know.

it tastes bitter, who i’m not.
who am i?,
i ask the trees.

who i really want is you,
to answer my childlike why’s.

you let them echo.
you care too much.
i don’t know how i know but i do.

——————

it takes time.
we’re alike, you see.
for you trees and me,
it takes time.
”

WWLT:
Change - Rivvrs
Seasons - Hollow Wood

L: 10/23/16, a Sunday in Cashiers. Katie and I hiked Whiteside Mtn and stared at the fiery colors on peak weekend.
C: 1/23/16, winter dusk in Daniel Square. I was probably walking back from my car when I snapped this. The trees are so tall. I remembered there's blue sky between branches.
R: 3/4/16, Friday afternoon in the Botanical Gardens. Syd, Meg and I went to shoot film on a *dreamy secret path*. The pines accentuate our human smallness, in a good way.

sugar maple

If you've found yourself here reading these words, welcome to trees: a series! This is 1 of 3 pieces I'll be sharing over the next three weeks. These words are inspired by two things: firstly, I've been praying for a heightened sense of curiosity lately, and as a result I've found myself attentively lost in thought on most days. Secondly, my time in college is drawing near its end; as chapters close, I tend to spend time reflecting and savoring the ways I've become who I am. And, all the photos you'll see come from days I've spent as a student at Clemson University, both at home and on trips. 

This piece in particular was mostly written on May 6, 2016, brought to life by the tree photographed at the bottom, 'Blue Skies' by Noah & the Whale, and time that preceded a summer of re:demption. Sad yet hopeful, like a good Sleeping at Last song. Ok enough intro: enjoy 'trees I'!

I drove the familiar route today. Reversed from the corner spot and chugged over the two speed-bumped hill like it'd been a lifelong ritual. A right turn, and there it stood tall. I had to squint, for the sun, but it was plain as day: the tree that's taught me all year long.

My careless mind has yet to determine its genus, its species. I know it stands thick at the root, flimsy branches spreading wide, casting shade and shadow. Now leaves are green, just as when I arrived. There's no trace of the orangey red explosion from November, nor the sudden barrenness that followed.

Those branches were bare for months. Birds began chirping, green returning left and right, save this tree. It stood tall, sinewy, and empty still. "All's made beautiful in its time," I'd whisper to myself as I passed, left empty by a figurative winter of my own, coinciding with the air's cold bite.

I passed by, eyes gazing out the window, marveling at the cycle. As if nothing had ever changed, as if the leaves had been there all along, prominent and bright and abundant.

Despite what appears, the tree's aged, weathered. As have I. This year's undoubtedly taken its lot and then some for the both of us. My chest tightens at the thought. I've lost grasp on what I thought I knew and so much is shattered. All the while, rubble's salvageable, leaves grow back.

'Once more, the darkness will leave this house. I will paint my poems blue with the color of our sky.' - Simin Behbahani

It's the stark contrast of You against the black, green after the grey, that beckon me forward. Forward where? Wish I had an answer, a map dot, an anything.

Reliance, dependence, trust.

I'll echo until doubt melts: I. Trust. You.

WWLT: Harbor and Home

L: 12/22/15, a day trip to Bluffton. Katie and I walked around Old Towne. It was overcast and warm for winter. We had nitro coffee and sat on the dock as birds flew overhead. 
C: 10/23/15, my favorite tree. It catches fire in the fall, and its leaves delay in spring's return. This tree (I've since looked up its genus!) is the inspiration behind the writing above.
R: 1/2/16, Rich Mtn. Brianna and I drove up an icy mountain to celebrate a new year. I remember standing on the fire tower, cold wind biting my face, thinking of H. D. Thoreau.