Trees are beautiful beings, living creatures. They carry a memory of the world and write down their years in their rings. They preserve their stories in countless scars on their trunks. Their branches scribble on the sky words only they can understand. Trees remember heavy rainfall, drought or fire. In their rings all the struggles and suffering, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the barren years and the lush years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured, the sunlight they basked in, the growing seasons of centuries.
They fill our landscapes with incredible beauty. We are lucky to experience their glory through the year. Their fragrant blooms in the spring, soothing greens in the summer, spectacular colours in the autumn, and quiet blankets of frost and snow in the winter.
Trees endure. They stand tall, holding on against all odds. Strong, proud and resilient. Their everlasting roots deeply etched in infinity. Their boughs reaching high for the skies sway and dance as the wind rustles and whispers through their leaves. It's one of the most beautiful and soothing sounds we can experience.
Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth about life and survival. They have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are. When trees whisper and sigh, listen to their thoughts, long-breathing and restful voices which say:
I am life. I was made from eternal life. I was made to form and reveal the eternal and unique life in each vein of my skin, in each smallest detail, in each slightest move of the leaves in my branches and the tiniest scar in my bark. I will show you how to survive. Look at me. Life is not easy. There are many storms to withstand, many obstacles to face. Be still. Stand tall. You are fearful and unhappy because you think that your path leads away from where you would like to be, from what you call home. But every step and every day lead you where you are meant to be. Home is not where you expect it to be. Home is within you. That is happiness.
Trees don't only give us the air that we breathe. They provide us with their wisdom and beauty. Our survival and well-being depend on them. Without them, like without love, our lives would not be as rich.
Have you ever noticed a tree standing naked against the sky, How beautiful it is? All its branches are outlined, and in its nakedness There is a poem, there is a song. Every leaf is gone and it is waiting for the spring. When the spring comes, it again fills the tree with The music of many leaves, Which in due season fall and are blown away. And this is the way of life.
Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky, We fell them down and turn them into paper, That we may record our emptiness.
I’d like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches
The tree has entered my hands, The sap has ascended my arms, The tree has grown in my breast – Downward, The branches grow out of me, like arms.
Tree you are, Moss you are, You are violets with wind above them. A child – so high – you are, And all this is folly to the world.
Everywhere I go, your beauty spills into my day. The trees were never this verdant. The birdsong never this sweet.
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow.
A. E. Housman
Soft sunlight tall trees woodsmoke impressions summery cues tossed on this dainty patch of my recluse.
I belong with the trees, the wind, the earth beneath my feet. I belong in the land of enchanting things. But mostly, I belong entwined in your kiss, lost, yet wild and free, pure bliss, like poetry.
Leaf-ward we wander
Wind through these trees Sunlight through breeze bird songs around we wander the leaves
In the wind that ruffles through the trees I can find thoughts of you whispering to me
Richard L. Ratliff
Be like the sun who fell in love with the moon and shared all his light. Be like the moon who became a lighthouse to guide others in the night. Be like the mountains who were once hills that wanted to kiss the sky. Be like the trees who are firmly grounded but dream up high. Be like the waves who play and tickle each other endlessly. Be like the children who enjoy and live in the present entirely. Be like the God who equally loves everything and everyone. And be like the love who brought compassion when she visited the sun.