Tag: trees

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A Short Autumn Story

A Story Situated in Real Time

The creatures living in the forest did not require a map to find their way there. They followed the path that led them through the undergrowth, over twisted roots and shiny flint laid out like a secret code. They didn’t need to unlock doors or pay for parking. Life was free here and they were welcome. The branches of the fir trees bowed their heads as the deer quietly and majestically passed by. The butterflies led the way, dipping and diving, kissing them with their wings. They had come to a place of peace. 

In autumn the forest flowers have laid their heads down and quietly retreated, but they lie unperturbed, knowing they will bloom again in the spring. The beech leaves fall, whispering in the wind, sometimes captured by a passer-by, and put in their pocket for luck.

The creatures of the forest know the secrets of the world. They know the clouds don’t just float above the trees, but hold the secrets of the night and wrap their arms around the moon and carry stars in their pockets. All is clear without the need for instructions or rules. There is a knowing and an acceptance for what is. The nightingale comes, and fills the night with a beautiful song, stretching its feathers like sheet music. It sings because the world is listening.

If you just pass by the forest, look towards the waving trees. ‘Here we are’ they say, ‘steady as you like’ as their arms reach up to the sun. 

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The Comfort of Trees

The Comfort of Trees

It’s extremely windy here today on this late summer day. The colour of the sky and the dip in the temperature warns me that Autumn is approaching. Normally I would be out walking early in the morning, but as the grey light filtered through the window and the rain pattered hard on the glass I preferred the comfort of my cosy bedroom and a hot cup of tea. Looking out, I could see the flock of crows flying haphazardly in the wind, their raucous noise silenced for once. I wondered where the friendly blackbird was – I have often seen him flying in and out of the garden, sometimes stopping to perch on the shed roof or rustle around in the flowers beds. I miss his sound and his company; he has been singing beautifully recently, even in the early hours. I hope he will return. I have been lucky to spot a song thrush recently too. In Irish mythology it is said that the fairies, the underground people, like to keep song thrushes at the gates to their underworld, because they like the sound of the music echoing down their long halls.

There is a sycamore tree at the end of the garden and I lay watching its sturdy branches swaying in the breeze. Maybe my blackbird sits hidden in its comforting branches.

I once read an article about the healing power of trees and learned that sacred trees with healing powers are found in every culture and age, and seen as a gift from the Earth Goddess. I was urged to go out and find a tree I was particularly drawn to and sit and lean against its trunk. This I did (feeling a little silly). But as the sun filtered through the leaves and my feet connected with the earth, it did feel like a positive experience.

Now, with the world feeling so different it is these simple acts that can help us feel more connected with nature, with the essence of life, and the healing power of our Earth. Our surroundings have been far more quiet lately, but now as we emerge and adapt, we can hold on to the stillness when we need to.

Here are a few of my poems about trees….

The Tree
Just off the path in the leafy wood
Stands an old majestic tree,
Its branches spread like open arms
Reaching out to me.

There’s a canopy high above my head
With leaves of green or gold,
Depending on the time of year -
The seasons that unfold.

I can lean against the roughened bark,
Plant my feet upon the ground,
And feel the gnarled and twisted roots
That are circled all around.

And I can dream of all that happens here
As I lay tucked up in my bed,
Hear the hooting owl who roosts aloft
And nods his wise old head.

I think the fairies alight there
After their midnight flight
From their magic city underground,
To frolic through the night.

And in the early morning sun,
Like a landmark to show the way
The tree stands in the breaking light 
Of yet another day.

Leafy boughs dip and bow
And freshen the dampened air;
They bend to sweep the forest floor,
So tread softly if you dare.
Where I’d Like to Be

I’d like to be up
In my favourite tree
Where the wind whispers
 Through the beech leaves
And sounds like softly falling rain.
Here, the wise old owl
Looks benignly on
The troubled ground
As if he knows
The world will heal again.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
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Learning To Love Your Scars

Learning To Love Your Scars…

As I was out walking today I looked at the trees as I often tend to do. I thought about time and how long some of the old oak trees must have been growing there. I noticed that the old and gnarled trees had a certain beauty and graciousness about them; they had stood the test of time.

Beauty is a concept that is often revered for the wrong reasons – the reasons why it matters and what it means. Often parts of life aren’t beautiful – they are marred by anguish, trauma or pain. When we think of beauty we may visualise glossy magazines, fabulous homes with perfect interiors or top models gracing the catwalk. We think of something that can be prized or given awards.

But I have learned not to see beauty that way. I have learned to accept my scars and even see beauty in them. Just like my trees they show I have survived my various battles.

Some scars are visible and some are not. We all carry them in one way or another. We have emotional triggers, maybe faded injuries, broken bones or broken hearts. However our scars manifest we should embrace them.

There was a time when I felt sad to look in the mirror; I felt the world could see that I was going through a deeply stressful time. I piled on the makeup and tried to cover how I felt. I was afraid that people could see I was struggling to cope with life’s trials. Now I view these emotional scars as life’s stories. A life lived and traumas survived.

There are happy scars too. I remember when we as a family were preparing for a wedding. It was a special time and we were in the midst of dressing ourselves and the children. My lovely daughter- in-law was trying to do ten things at once and left the hot curling tongs on my dressing table, scorching the surface. She was mortified but I wasn’t – these things happen, and now, whenever I sit at my dressing table and look at the indelible mark, it reminds me of a wonderful day, full of love and new beginnings. I wouldn’t want it to be polished out. Another scar I look at with pride is the scar I wear on my body from a Caesarean section. Without that scar, my baby who has brought me so much joy may not have been born safely in his haste to enter the world.

It is beautiful to have lived and survived some traumas along the way, and to have the marks to prove it. It takes nothing to dress up in a fabulous outfit, but to face the world looking less than perfect, that is indeed beautiful.

Sometimes when we are struggling with emotional trauma or anxiety we lose our sparkle. If we stop feeling beautiful inside it shows on the outside however we try and hide how we feel. To look beautiful we need to feel good inside. Once we accept our scars and take the power away from negative emotions, accept that we cannot change our past and instead, look forward, we can be beautiful again.

I think of Kintsugi, which is the Japanese art of precious scars. By repairing ceramics with precious metal like liquid gold or silver,  it’s possible to give a new lease of life to pottery that becomes even more refined thanks to its ‘scars’. It teaches that broken objects are not something to hind but to display with pride. Now that is beautiful.

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‘Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars’.   Khalil Gibran