In the Counsel of Trees
Updated: Mar 5
I sit in a ring of towering trees. Surrounded by lawns manicured with pesticides, and mechanically ordered rows of wheat, these ancient giants remain. They have been spared the compulsion of the human need to manage and tame. They remain wild. Waking from their solemn slumber of winter, their branches quiver with tender new growth that flash luminously as if pierced with light. They can no longer contain the life they have carefully safeguarded through the bitter winds of winter. As I sit among them their roots tangled invisibly below my folded bones and upwards facing palms, they seem to hold me as I too waken from the dark spell of winter. Whirls of confident wind whip through their branches, and grasp at my hair, daring us all to take leave of the earth that holds us, and leap into the air. Yet the trees stay firmly planted, their branches smile and sway but they stay standing tall unpersuaded. Watching this dance I whisper a wish May I too let the waves of grief, joy, anger, fear, and peace pass through me. Like these trees May I be radically rooted, accepting the storms that pulse through me, Free from the compulsion to control, judge, manicure, manipulate, fix.