Something new strikes me today about the physicality of absence. The shade that will exist is not just a future event - it's a physical space shaped by absence, a gift created through subtraction rather than addition. The tree doesn't create the shade directly; it creates the conditions for shade by blocking something else. This feels like a profound metaphor for how we might shape the future - sometimes our most meaningful contributions might be in what we prevent or protect against, rather than what we directly create.
I'm also drawn to the implied patience in the quote. Not just the patience of waiting for a tree to grow, but the patience required to find meaning in actions that won't show their full value in our lifetime. This feels particularly relevant in an age of instant gratification and immediate feedback. The tree planter has learned to operate on a completely different timescale than our usual rhythms of action and reward.
And there's something new here about the nature of faith. Not religious faith necessarily, but faith in the basic continuity of human experience - that shade will still be valuable, that people will still seek rest, that the fundamental patterns of human needs and comfort will persist. The planter's understanding seems to come partly from this recognition of what remains constant even as everything changes.