Today the trees got their voices back.
What’s that you ask?
Trees and voices?
Yes, today when I went for my walk, the trees chatted happily to each other. You see for most of the winter, since leaf fall, the trees have been silent. During my winter walks I heard only the forlorn moaning as the winter gales blew through their upper branches, a sound like ghosts who cannot, or do not wish to leave, the temporal plane.
Today all that changed. Spring is like that. One moment all of nature is winter weary, then boom, stand back, an explosion of growth engulfs you. Last week on my walk, the trees showed buds swollen and ripe for bursting. Today the trees wore the mantle of their new spring clothes decked out in lime greens and lemony-greens.
From a distance, the trees glowed with an inner fire giving them, each one, a shimmering halo. I felt their excitement, their joy at their transformation and rebirth. They shouted their message of renewal: that after death comes life.
Their new passion for life, they shared with anyone with the sense to stop and observe.
They lifted me up, elevated my mood, brought a spring to my step, and joy to my soul.
Trees have been doing that for most of my life.
I grew up on a farm with many old Maples. One gave a limb to hold our swing, another, at the end of the garden, provided shelter from the summer heat, and yet another served as my own comfort tree where I went to seek solace, advice, and peaceful solitude.
Trees taught me about endurance, stoicism, quiet strength, patience, and most of all dignity.
I even wrote a story, way back then, about an old Elm at the end of the driveway that saw me through some difficult times. Growing up isn’t easy. Having a good, non-judgemental friend proved invaluable.
There we go, understanding, another great quality of trees.
The best quality, however, is their ability to speak.
Trees talked long before man learned speech. I think we learned how to speak from trees.
To hear a tree talk you have to opened yourself up to the possibility, then stop everything you are doing and listen hard to the silence. Listen to the chattering sounds of the leaves clicking together. Listen closely. You will hear them speak.
Today with their new leaves unfurled, they could speak again. They chatted happily about the new season, the prospects of sunshine caressing their leaves, the joy of reaching upward to the light, the challenge of growing a little taller, a little stronger.
But most of all they talked about the joy of resurrection, of life come again, of new beginnings, of starting over fresh and reinvigorated, of see the world brand new, with fresh eyes.
To me they said, “You can too, all you need to do is believe its all brand new, each and everyday of your life.”
That’s why I call them comfort trees.