That hemlock (who I mistook for a redcedar) has heard a thing or two over the past eight months:
prayers and blessings for family and friends,
panting breath from trail-running,
questions about who he (the tree) is, and inquiries into next steps for good, compassionate living,
words of reflection about his grove, his forest,
whispered memories of beloveds who have passed,
shouted glee for the beauty of those still present,
and stories of deep thanks for the gifts galore granted freely by Nature in all of her many forms.
That hemlock, my friend, has seen a thing or two over the past year and a half:
a bark collage in honor of my mom,
trees fallen at his base in the small wood in which he stands,
an altar to honor the sick, the dead, the hurting,
a multihued thousand-paper-cranes spiraled and fanned into the shape of a bird,
the circular tribute made of rocks, leaves, cones, fronds, and fallen boughs,
a woman doing yoga in the clearing while her two young sons play a game with twigs,
the barred owl who flew through, the pileated woodpecker pair hammering in turn on two sides of a neighboring tree, the flitting of small songbirds way back in the springtime,
downpours of rain, of hail, of snow, and blazing sun (only on Hemlock’s uppermost needles),
winds that dance everyone living in the grove … (and a few humans, too)
That particular tree, Hemlock, has sung a thing or two to me recently:
be brave, little one,
sit still beside me if you want to learn,
strength is in community
your heart matters, love matters, kindness matters
gratefulness is inside you not outside of you
seek beauty
hug me like you mean it, tightly, unabashedly
give thanks repeatedly, specifically, heartfully…in fact, constantly
i’m breathing you in, you’re breathing me in
we’re kin – you and i
And so much more.
These are tree stories for which I give thanks.
