....messages from a tree

Yogis,

It’s hard to believe I have known him for 29 years now. More than half my life……..

I was only 25 years old when we moved into our west facing house on 81^st street. Fresh in marriage with a three year old son and an alley cat that my roommate and I had taken in during college to handle our mouse issue. 

There he was. You couldn’t miss him. From my bed I could see him through the front bedroom windows, with a tire swing hanging from one of his upper branches. His height and girth dwarfing the house. He watched me dream and saw my eyes open each morning. 

For the 20 years I lived in that house he watched over me as I raised three boys, housed multiple nannies, said goodbye to the cat, welcomed in a lab puppy and had to cut down the tire swing. He shaded birthday parties and was a good sport when the kids built miniature forts throughout his exposed roots. His branches offered an unending game of pick up sticks, and his leaves, a monumental raking effort each year which provided a sense of accomplishment when finally complete.  

Then we decided to move…..next door…..where we now face south. And we still face him. The picture above is taken from my bathroom window.  For the past nine years, each morning as I rise and go in to brush my teeth, there he is. As I open my front door, there he is. As I teach yoga, there he is.  Watching all of us.  But when he speaks to me the most is when I wake to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Everything dark. Quiet. He, slightly lit by the street lamp. Us, alone. 

Winter is the season of the earth energy. Slow, quite, centered. And the trees take center stage.  Without the distraction of colors, and smells, flowers and bright green leaves we see the trees exactly as they are. We notice. Each and every one an exquisite work of art. Each unique. 

I must admit that I do have some ‘others’.  The grandfather tree down on the bank of the creek behind the house where I sat daily for months when I was searching for wisdom.  The magnificent Sycamore as I walk up Persimmon Tree Lane which reminds me each day to look skyward.  Tall, squat, wide, narrow, poker straight or with a noticeable lean…..each with something to share but you must slow down to tune in.

I am reading ‘The Hidden Life of Trees’ which describes the languages of trees.  A tree can communicate in several ways, with its electrical impulses traveling at a mere 1/3 of an inch per second.  They remind us there is no hurry.  A friend shared with me a tree meditation where you hug a tree for a full hour, opening the front of your body to hear its voice.  I can see why an hour would be necessary…..and oh so worth it. 

My tree has stood tall through the droughts, blizzards, lightening and high winds.  He has even weathered the butchering of his limbs by our power company who promises to keep everyone from being inconvenienced by outages. The world whirls around him with consistent change but he stays steady and sure. His roots deep. I watch that.

If you don’t have ‘your tree or trees’ yet, let one find you this week. When you are out, move slowly. Notice them. See them. And one will pick you if you are still and quiet enough to hear it.  Remember…there is no rush, whispers the tree.

The young family who has moved in next door has now tied a rope swing to his uppermost branch to the delight of all of the neighborhood children. I can feel him smiling.

Earth,
SARAH