So, spring’s here, officially at least, and the sun’s been out without rain for a few days, which means the grassy road up the hillside beside our house is walkable. I haven’t been there yet, so I decide to hoof it to the top, where I spy the perfect image of a Storytelling Tree. You know the kind: wonderfully gnarled and ancient with a hollowed out trunk that just might house a storytelling dwarf or elf or leprechaun.

In a heartbeat I hear ghost stories, tales of mystery and harvest told beneath spreading autumn branches. Stories of rest, reflection, transition and, yes, even death, echoing underneath stark, barren limbs. Whispers of birth and rebirth, life and passion, origins, history, and truths unfolding along with bright, neon-green spring finery. And then come tales of adventure, purpose and the passage of everyday life lilting out amidst a summer cloak of green.

Yeah. It’s that kind of tree. Breathtaking and filled with meanings.

While I stand here reveling in the sight catching my breath from the climb on this brilliantly blue-skyed spring day, my mind taps politely behind my eyes as if to say, “Hey! I brought you up here to see this tree because it reminds you of something you know about yourself. You’re a storyteller at heart, and in all your scheming and planning and worrying about the future you keep forgetting this. Don’t forget. Nurture that purpose. Do it. Call the circle. Step into that community.”

Hmmm. I guess when a quantum flirt like that grabs you by the shoelaces and forces you to walk up a steep hill to see a vivid reminder of what you say fills you with purpose … well, you’d best listen. Grateful.