The old tree suffered a difficult summer. Weeks without rain, record high temperatures, and hurricane remnants ravaged it and left it looking tattered. The leaves at the end of the branches are withered and brown. Ragged stumps remain where gracious limbs once swayed in the breeze.
But there is a small, timid creek that flows beneath it. The slanting morning sun reflects off the water and onto the underside of the leaves. The effect is breathtaking.
This cool September morning I recognize the strength of that metaphor – sometimes the true beauty is underneath.