If you are between a rock and a hard place, you are in a tough position. I’ve always thought that phrase described an impossible bind--and that you have to be tough to bully your way out. But walking down a city street, admiring the canopy of old oaks shading me, I looked down and saw an intriguing pattern of roots and cobbles. Every tree had been planted between a rock and a hard place--what with pavement and street at their trunks, and bedrock under their roots. But every tree was thriving. They were simply embracing their adversaries, swallowing them up--you can almost see the liquidity of their growth
Softness wins out, in the long run.
Labels: intertidal years