Bare trees....

Side note: this was a free write I did for a class... the topic was 'bare trees.'

Bare trees are the symbol of winter, in my mind. Bare trees are also beautiful in my mind, as winter is beautiful. The way they branch out, so thin and frail-looking—yet when spring comes, they bounce to life again as if winter never happened. Hibernation.

What is so beautiful about the bareness? The loss of leaves, floating away into the sky? Why is it beautiful? The somber trees, representing a somber time of year. That solemn time of year also has spikes of warmth and happiness. Christmas, Hannukah, love, family, presents, meals; all of these belong to beautiful winter.

Bare. The loss of hair. Bald skin. What is there in life? I have gorgeous red hair—something I have always cherished in my life (something I have marked and distinguished myself by for as long as I can remember). There is something that could take that away, but it is also a giver of life.

My identity is not my hair. My identity is my life, how I spend my time, the things I say, the people I surround myself with. Trees do not identify themselves by how bare their branches can be, but rather by the beautiful leaves they produce upon returning to spring year after year. The importance lies in how life is lived.

Like a bare tree returning to spring, I can return to normal life after chemotherapy, after cancer. Leaves grow back, as does hair. Chemo, a sign of beauty? That bald head proves one beautiful thing: life does go on, and I am fighting for more. Beauty, in its essence.

I walked outside today, after my first appointment with a radiologist. It was raining and cold. Most definitely winter. Most definitely beautiful. The rain matched the tears on my cheeks—not just wet, but cleansing. I know that after the pain, after the sadness, a new, fresh life will come my way. The buds of spring will enter my world again.

Bare trees represent beauty and life. They are the old being replaced with the new, year after year; a necessary process of life. One cannot have fresh leaves if the old are in its place. Life goes on, as it ever does.