Lords of the Plant World, My Shelter
My daily walk in a nearby park takes me past a phalanx of ginko trees. They call to me. All trees call to me wherever I am, no matter the season, regardless of my mood. As a preschooler I planted a tiny cedar rescued from my parents’ garden weed pile. It has survived for over 70 years.
The sweetness of the apple orchard in bloom, the brilliant fall wardrobe of sugar maples, the sycamores bravely baring their white arms in winter; the reassurance of evergreens, guardians ready to make their holiday sacrifice; the majesty of sequoias and redwoods: I cannot fathom their absence from my life. Barren landscapes create a kind of inverse claustrophobia in me, a yearning to be back where trees shield and comfort me.
Like a herd of cattle, a tower of giraffes, a convocation of eagles, a glint of goldfish, I would propose a reverence of trees. How strange it is to me, that not everyone feels what I feel, in the presence of trees.
Ginko leaves falling
Image banked for winter
All the gold I need