Perspective. It’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it? You think you know what you’re looking at. You see it every day. Some thing. Or some one.
Like this tree on the farm back home.
You walk by it every day. You’re vaguely aware that it’s damaged. You might even be aware of it enough to know that there are bees in it, and honey. It has character. It’s withstood many storms, and you trust that it’s not going anywhere. It’s been part of the landscape so long that you can’t imagine home without it. You face East and this is the face it shows you.
Then one day, the grass is too wet at your feet and you are forced to take a slightly different path. And you walk all the way around the tree.
You look back, facing West for the first time. Seeing the same tree stark against a different background.
And everything you missed before stands out.
How hollow.
How damaged.
How helpless you are to make it whole again.
All you can do is marvel that it’s still standing.
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