The seed of a bamboo tree is planted, fertilized and watered. Nothing happens for the first year.
There´s no sign of growth.
Not even a hint.
The same thing happens – or doesn´t happen – the second year.
And then the third year.
The tree is carefully watered and fertilized each year,
but nothing shows. No growth. No anything.
For eight years it can continue. Eight years!
Then – after the eight years of fertilizing and watering have passed, with nothing to show for it – the bamboo tree suddenly sprouts and grows thirty feet in three months!
It has rained, and rained and rained, here at the treehouse.
Today, more rain.
The sky is iron grey, low clouds cover our mountain in mist, and rain sheets down.
The bamboo outside my window is bent over with the burden of unshed water in its leaves.
But still, it dances.
If the rain stops the bamboo sheds droplets like laughter with every breath of wind.
It gives me comfort to watch the bamboo dance, to watch it swirl and bob and weave through the air with grace and ease shedding diamonds of water that glisten rainbows.
If I am become like bamboo, then I can dance under the pressure of life. I can rain diamonds of light. I can take time to grow into who I was meant to be.
The view from my favourite armchair becomes a haiku.
My heart is full.