Avalanche
The most spectacular part was the avalanche. Plunging over the steep mountainside like millions of wet, sparkling gold coins, a shower of light flowed in the path of where a huge avalanche had once thundered. High at the edge of treeline, the first saplings were just yellow tufts; a beginning, but the grove gained height and scale as it billowed into the valley. The tallest trees at the bottom fluttered and plumed like cumulus clouds of light. The effect was truly breathtaking. Standing before it brought us both to tears.
Afterwards, I pondered the metaphor of this golden avalanche. On the one hand, a destructive moment: the original avalanche. A strong wind, a wave, the deafening racket of pines cracking and splitting, boulders upended, the whole world a violent tumble, then the silence of the ravaged. On the other hand, in the wake: rich, overturned earth, seedlings sprouting, and, a generation later, this river of light in October.
Forces of destruction can create the path for great beauty. Guttings can open up space for new things to emerge. What looks like death might be the beginning of light.
The metaphor definitely holds for life patterns. Can we maintain the vision for the gut-sinking plunges of an overloaded economy? What aspen grove might spring from this avalanche?
