Sunday 20 September 2009

In the trail of a tree

When I am in the garden, time stands quiet and still. Dried leaves celebrate beneath my bare feet. Bees and flies examine me for size, for harm, and muscle in for some skin. I politely decline, and the scent of green guages invites them elsewhere.

I turn to the trees. Trees make me gracious. How strange to long to travel, and see and touch the new, and yet have loved the same trees, in the same patch of green, for sixteen years.

I have loved other trees, in another garden, in that other world I belonged to. The trees of before were loved differently though. Confidently, posessively, smugly - the way you love a thing you think will never leave you.

Trees know things. What do your trees tell you?


Ruth said...

My mother tree, and her sisters, in Tara, Ireland told me they loved me! The churchyard at Tara is full of old beech trees. I had the unconditional love moment of my life a few years ago when I met those trees, like they welcomed me with open arms. Outside of time. I have been back twice to greet them again, and both times, I bawled. It's a connection I have never felt with anything or anyone else before or since.

So yes, I understand your words.

TheBeautyFile said...

This is so beautiful. And so dead trees are magical. I can see them from my bedroom window and they always appear to be singing to me.

Jeanne-ming Brantingham said...

your pappa's art is beautiful. Lead me to your Mother's, please.

A Cuban In London said...

They tell me to stand strong and tall. To not fear anything. Trees are wise.

Many thanks for such a lovely post.

Greetings from London.

Yin said...

Yes I still recall the smooth skin of the guava tree I climbed before I turned nine and my mother quietly mentioned people could see my knickers if I kept hanging upside down from the branch with the swing.

Every time my cousins and I played hide and seek someone would hide in the tree branches even though everyone knew someone would be there.

Never loved another tree quite so much since. Although if the low one in my garden does indeed turn out to be a quince and those five greeny-yellow fruit ripen I might change my mind.

Mariana Soffer said...

Nice post, to tell you the truth they tell me a lot of things, my best friend on the cyberspace is one of them. uncle tree is his name, he gives me advice, teaches me how to write properly and makes me understand right for wrong. A lot indeed, isn t it?

Stacey J. Warner said...

I recently lost my beautiful palm tree (wrote a blog about it). I've never faught for something so strongly but my landlord out of spite for the neighbors cut it down.

I miss the hearing the wind in the palms and watching the squirrels run accross them.

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