What the Trees are Saying
(very) late spring edition
On Saturday I had the pleasure of hosting a handful of women in my home for a mini retreat.
I’ve been hosting these retreats every season for the past three years and there are two main intentions: to help people develop a rhythm of resting deeply and to encourage a habit of getting quiet enough to hear the buried things. As I prepare each retreat, my focus is on offering a calming space where people can relax into being present. There is also a seasonally inspired theme to help folks open to the wisdom of the season and whatever it is stirring in them. This retreat’s theme was viriditas - Hildegard of Bingen's word for the creative, greening power of God that moves in and through all things. The invitation of the afternoon was to be with the green of nature and see what happened.
We began in my living room and then transitioned into an hour to simply be with the green around us. I had imagined my guests enjoying the garden by lying on the grass, watching bumblebees and smelling honeysuckle but the forecast had been threatening thunderstorms so I had done what I could to bring the garden inside. Thanks to many houseplants (some borrowed from my neighbours), the house was an oasis of green. I had a timelapse of growing plants playing in the living room. I spread images of landscapes and trees across my kitchen table. I left the patio doors open so we could breathe fresh air and hear the birds sing.
Twelve retreats in, I’ve finally found an ease in hosting but I still struggle to slow down and be present during the quiet of the open times. Mostly I make cups of tea and keep an eye on timings so that my guests don’t have to clock watch. Sometimes, though, I’m surprised by how I find myself drawn into rest even in the midst of “work”. As I cleared dishes, I looked out of the kitchen window and found myself mesmerised by the plum tree and its movement in breeze. It wasn't sunny but the green of its leaves still spoke to me of light and going lightly. I opened to receive the peace and joy that flow from being with the verdant goodness of nature.
As I lingered, I remembered Mary Oliver’s poem ‘When I Am Among the Trees’. I didn't realise I'd memorised it but the final stanza, in which the trees speak, returned to me complete. Now I write this, I’m aware that the most likely explanation is that my memory is better than I thought but, in that moment, it felt as though the plum tree was reciting the poem through its own leaves and branches.
“Stay awhile… go easy.. be filled with light…. shine”.
Wisdom to live by.
It makes me wonder if all the trees know the same truth; whether my plum tree is rooted in the same wisdom as Oliver’s willows and honey locusts. Perhaps all the spring-greened trees echo the same, timeless message of peace, presence and radiance. Perhaps their greening has always been inviting us to linger in the light. When so much in the world feels unstable and anxiety inducing, it’s a comfort and a relief to know that the trees green message will continue to remain the same.
This weekend, I wonder if you can listen for the wisdom of the trees.
“Stay awhile… go easy.. be filled with light…. shine”.
Where do you hear echoes of this message around you?
What is the trees’ gift or invitation to you?
When I Am Among the Trees
by Mary Oliver
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
-
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
-
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
-
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
I wish I could cone to one if your retreats Jen! And I'm borrowing that poem for a wee forest gathering this afternoon, thanks! ❤️