Trees
“For
me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere
them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves.
And even more, I revere them when they stand alone. They are like
lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some
weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche.
In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with
all the forces of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill
themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form,
to represent themselves. Nothing is holier...”
Hermann
Hesse (Tree: Reflections and Poems)
I
live in a neighborhood of old trees. Mighty oaks and pines,
live-oaks, maples and hickories. They tower above the houses and
provide shade in summer. Most of the ones growing in my yard have to
compete with one another for sun, so they're lopsided in their
development, but across the fence in my neighbor's back yard, stands
a lone oak whose canopy spreads at least forty feet in every
direction. It's huge, symmetrical and grand. Sadly, my one and only
hickory tree is dying—it has borers of some ilk in it, and the base
is riddled away. Red-headed, Downy and Flicker woodpeckers feast,
which is fun to watch; still, I feel sad. The tree is trying its best
to force out some leaves here and there, but clearly, its days are
done. I am losing a friend.
Some
of the live oaks in the neighborhood are ancient. Twelve feet around,
they push concrete slabs out of sidewalks and heave up roadsides. The
City comes through every couple of years and hacks off their tops,
and yet they stand firm. They will certainly represent themselves. I
think of them as old grandmothers and grandfathers. If they could
impart the wisdom of their years, they would teach us
patience, solidarity, and perseverance. Whatever goes on around
you, they would say, is just wind. It will blow through, perhaps blow
you about, but it too will pass, and you will still be standing. They
lose limbs and leaves; they host squirrel nests in their branches,
and in holes where limbs have been cut off. Birds drink from pools of
water that collect between their exposed roots. They are not
unscathed by the world, yet they remain true to themselves, their
roots in infinity, their branches in paradise.
I
hope you have a favorite tree. This is a good day to visit, and pay
your respects.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
No comments:
Post a Comment