I am totally beguiled by the thought that trees can form silent but central characters in our lives.
I was inspired to write a short piece for this blog exploring this concept just a little, leaving me itching to work up more output around it.
The piece itself is about reflecting upon one’s younger years. From teenaged infatuation; through the main milestones of adulthood to that point where not a lot new is going on for the mid-section and therefore idle thoughts start wrangling with existentialism and all the dashed romantic notions of shoulda, woulda, coulda.
The central witness to my human’s unspoken melodrama here is his neighbourhood tree.
You know, the one you notice has started to push the sidewalk up all uneven. When did that happen you ponder on a bad hair day after the kind of trip that could have easily been avoided had you been wearing glasses, and therefore irritates you enough to want to chop it down there and then; as if its bark hasn’t already been pissed up against by a million dogs before you got there.
On some of your better days, the shafts of light cast through fertile thick coats of leaves, bathed the scene, smell and vitality of the summers of your teen spirit. The bones of bark are picked at in winter when eyes can no longer meet, as leaves start to fall and the last of the birds are gone. It stands alone until its hopes of late spring begin with the first sneeze of hay-fever to be credited to its awakening. This tree knows about the seasons of life.
The tree that was here long before you and will still be here long after you go wants to scoff at your ego and tell you that there’s not a lot he/she/it hasn’t seen. What you are going through is nothing new.
It wants to tell you; you’re only human thinking and doing typical human shit. Your life is finite. You don’t have forever. None of it REALLY matters in the grand scheme of the universe. You might not like it; but the resistance of time passing is futile. It is the will of Mother Earth and you are just one of one kind of animal she keeps.
Maybe you don’t care what a tree might think. Or maybe you’ve never considered it. I hope maybe you might now.
Look: the trees exist; the houses
we dwell in stand there stalwartly.
pass by it all, like a rush of air.
And everything conspires to keep quiet
half out of shame perhaps, half out of
some secret hope.Rainer Maria Rilke
If you would like to read the piece I refer to above that inspired this post please click HERE. Thank you for reading!