I wonder what the trees think of us
That is, if they have the capacity for thought
But, say they have at least the capacity to feel
I mean, they must. When cut do they not bleed?
What do you think the sap is that seeps from their bark to cover the wound?
Have you ever smelled a freshly cut tree? The scent is so strong it permeates the air
Almost no matter how you hurt them they still have the ability to grow
Sometimes a new branch emerges from that wound and flourishes stronger with greenery more vibrant that its original growth
These trees, they absorb carbon dioxide and other noxious fumes, turning it around into something that gives life and sustains. Oxygen, don’t you know?
We are like these trees as we face lifetimes of ugliness and sorrow. We turn it around and birth forms of art: music, song, paintings, literature and dance. Expressions of our shared experiences often born of pain as our mind struggles to comprehend. Our soul cries out from our collective broken heart
These trees, they sway in the storm and withstand turbulent winds.
Thanks to their root systems grounded in terrain preserving soil, just as we are rooted by family and that connection makes us whole
I think of their ability to stand against storms, and their ability to regenerate
Becoming stronger from injury is much like our ability to recover from wrongs
Our new growth turns us into something even more beautiful, a thing to fear, awe and respect
I compare life sustaining tree roots to our faith and desire to heal. Healing that is strengthened through worship of our chosen God. Like theirs, the sun
Sometimes trees do fall
When left in place their decay nurtures the soil preparing the ground around them for continuation of life. There is still life even in decomposition. The breakdown attracts insects, which brings animals to feed and or seek shelter in decaying tree trunks
Sometimes, seeds are present and are fertilized by nutrients from their parent tree
I wonder as they grow do these saplings remember where they came from?
Do they aspire to be as grand from whence they came?
Do they even know that they have a name? Mighty oak, cedar, birch, cypress, or grand redwood
I wonder if they’ve been stripped of their history, like me and you
I wonder if they reconnect with their ancestors. You know, roots
Do you ever take the time to sit outside, just to be quiet and still, to listen to their song?
Oh yes, trees talk. Sometimes they moan and creak as they bear the weight of forceful winds and weather storms. I imagine their moan is like the agony of a mother or father longing to hold their deceased child just one more time in their arms
But again, I am curious what trees think of us
I look up to them and am amazed by their magnificence
I wonder do they look down upon us and see nothing but pestilence
Trees as a collective are an orchard, jungle or forest
Their root systems connect and spread ensuring the population of their species
The tallest of trees provide safety and shelter for the smallest of trees
The tallest of trees are there to welcomingly embrace the sapling as it attains height
Even when a tree has been injured another tree is there for it. The stronger tree allows the broken one to attach itself and somehow makes room so that they both can continue to grow
I wonder if they think what is going on with humankind? Because these humans are not kind to each other! Is their spirit as devoid of humanity as the sparsity of my shade at high noon? The haves hoard from the have nots. They grow fat from over indulgence on opulent abundance while their souls diminish and rot. They kill as indiscriminately as the logger who desolates the land upon which we grow.
They have become a virus: racism, greed, vanity, and lust. Parasites feeding on one another worshipping money stamped with IN GOD WE TRUST.
But, again
If I could know
I wonder what the trees think of us
(Originally posted 6/5/2020)