Listening to the Trees
Winter edition.
Have you ever noticed how a tree’s story is held in its form?
Look closely at trunk and branches and they will tell you the story of how that tree has grown. How it has reached to light and been blown by wind. How it has suffered with sickness and been hurt by storms. How it has adapted to its climate and soil and space. How it has recovered and adapted over and over again as it responds to the call of its DNA.
Trees are generous in every season but unclothed winter trees invite a special intimacy. This winter, more than ever, I feel drawn to pay attention. Mostly I pause on my morning walks and look up. I follow the branches with my gaze or imagine tracing my finger along each of their lines. I visit favourite trees and wonder - again - about their story of becoming and what they might say about mine.
Sometimes, on these walks, I take photos as I would of human friends. I take them to remember particular moments of encounter or to honour the beauty of a particular pattern of branches or a play of light on bark. The sky, here in Bedford, has been relentlessly white this January and the trees look beautiful against it.
