Trees

In my part of the world trees are just beginning to show life. The fruit trees are filled with buds just waiting to flower. Other trees are slowly uncurling tender spring green leaves. I love trees. They have given me great joy throughout my life. As a young child in New Orleans, I claimed a golden rain in our backyard as my own. When we moved to a larger house we had crepe myrtles, pine, mimosas and rain trees. Out in front of the house was a huge live oak which framed the house and provided us with some much needed shade. That tree still stands today having survived hurricanes, including hurricane Katrina, and termite damage. Trees are strong, they provide shelter and I have always loved how they can change light as Mary Oliver notes in her beautiful poem WHEN I AM AMONG THE TREES.

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, "Stay awhile."
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, "It's simple," they say,
"and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine."