See how the trees
Reach up and outward
As if their entire existence
Were an elegant gesture of prayer.
See how they welcome the breath of spirit,
In all its visible and invisible forms.
See how the roots reach downward and out,
Embracing the physical,
The body and bones
Of its soul of earth and stone,
Allowing half its life to be sheltered
in the most quiet and secret places.
Oh, if I could be more like a tree on this Sunday morning,
To feel the breath of invisible spirit
Touch me as tenderly as a kiss on the forehead.
If I could courageously and confidently
Dig down into the dark
Where the ground water runs deep,
Where shelter and sanctuary
Can be had and held.
Ah, to be like a tree
With all its bent and unbent places,
A whole and holy thing
From its topmost twigs
To the deepest taproot
To all the good and graceful
Spaces between.
~Carrie Newcomer “To Be Like a Tree” from The Beautiful Not Yet: Poems, Essays & Lyrics
I love the accomplishments of trees,
How they try to restrain great storms
And pacify the very worms that eat them.
Even their deaths seem to be considered.
I fear for trees, loving them so much.
I am nervous about each scar on bark,
Each leaf that browns. I want to
Lie in their crotches and sigh,
Whisper of sun and rains to come.
Sometimes on summer evenings I step
Out of my house to look at trees
Propping darkness up to the silence.
When I die I want to slant up
Through those trunks so slowly
I will see each rib of bark, each whorl;
Up through the canopy, the subtle veins
And lobes touching me with final affection;
Then to hover above and look down
One last time on the rich upliftings,
The circle that loves the sun and moon,
To see at last what held the darkness up.
~Paul Zimmer “A Final Affection” from Crossing to Sunlight.
The old farmer who sold us this farm 35 years ago made sure we were equipped for a most important role: becoming the caretakers of trees he had planted and watered and loved for decades.
He exacted a promise we would not remove any tree before its time. For the most part, we have been able to do what he asked.
Most trees we’ve lost have succumbed to wind or disease or crippling old age. The old row of poplars became quite hazardous with their breaking branches and invading roots, and a couple old orchard trees gave way for our addition of a garage. For the record, we did feel appropriately guilty about taking their lives.
We have added numerous trees to replace those we have lost. Now we know exactly how that old farmer felt: they become like our children – growing, thriving and fruiting long past our presence here.
These sturdy trunks stand solid, holding the darkness up with their branches, as if in constant prayer to care for us creatures living below.
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