I stood at the foot of a soaring Red Cedar
Time and weather had scoured its surface
Its roots rose out of the earth in places
Where storms had eroded the ground around their blind faces
The bark was knarled and fierce
Scarred with kicks
Divots of hide lifted by whatever chanced by.
My neck hurt as I stretched it back
To peer breathlessly into the canopy
When I laid my hand upon its trunk
I could feel its ancient energy
So I leaned closer
Forehead to rough bark
And asked
“How can you stand here, so serene. Does no one call you out for your lack of ambition. Or say your branches should have grown differently. That your leaves are not the right shade of green. You have no tasks to do, except to grow. Yet you are not castigated for growing to slow?”
I was slightly bitter, I admitted
That in this thick belt of trees, none of them, from the smallest to the largest, none of them seemed forced or sad. To the contrary, it was deeply peaceful
I kept walking, with one ear listening for their response
All I heard was the breeze and the birds, the rumble of a distant storm
Now I’m miles away from that tree
And to date I’ve leaned on many others
But that one, I swear, tugged on my sleeve as I walked passed
Tugged on my consciousness
And I haven’t stopped listening
I’m still listening
*header photo is not a Red Cedar. It’s a Gum. But this could be about any large tree, for they all share the same quiet dignity.
