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  • Writer's picturedavidauten


A tree is a quiet confidant, easily sought and easily found, majestic and unassuming, roots running deep, branches bending toward light, weathering without question the blistering heat of the day and cold storms of the night. Always ready to receive you, a tree is a listener par excellence, its ears acutely attuned through the passage of time. Many trees you see were here long before you arrived. They are the strong of old, beings of gentle beauty, calling to those in need of nature’s friendship or a form of healing no physician can prescribe. In Hebraic mythology, at the beginning of time, there was a tree of life, and in Japanese mythology, among the sea of trees at the base of Mount Fuji, Aokigahara offers a woodland dwelling for the dead. Jesus hung on a tree. Gautama experienced enlightenment under a tree. Shakespeare believed there were tongues in trees, silently speaking in a language only the heart can understand. Sit down in the shade beneath a tree, or with your eyes and ears simply behold a tree, and you may realize a hidden longing for reverie and rest. There is solace in the presence of the spruce, an invitation to weeping when needed with the willow, even the freedom to forget yourself for a while. For some, a tree has no significance until it becomes a piece of paper or two-by-four. In truth, a tree exists beyond and before utility, teeming and bristling with life, a consolation exquisite in its own right.


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