Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Temperature: 38 degrees
Skies cloudy and gray.
Usually, I run beside the stream, but today I sit.
The water is noisy as it pulses beneath a wooden bridge and out of my sight. Years of erosion have worn away its muddy banks, exposing the roots of a sycamore and pine tree. I feel special seeing what's usually buried deep beneath the ground. It seems like a secret, one the trees trust me to keep.
The roots are curvy, knotted, and thick. Thicker than my forearm, thicker than my thigh. Pine and sycamore roots overlap and intertwine as they search for water and nutrients. Though woven together, their bark is distinct, and it's easy to trace root to the right tree. The gnarled bunch of roots captures discarded trash, an empty water bottle, metallic candy wrappers, and a styrofoam Cup of Noodles.
The trees are similar in height, though the sycamore beats the pine by a foot or two. I search their branches for signs of wildlife. Maybe a bird or even a squirrel? I see nothing. The tree's only company is one another.
How long have the sycamore and pine stood tall together along the stream's bank? Silent witnesses of the world that was. I try to imagine the trees decades younger, trunk the size of their thickest roots. Did they grow up together? Watch the seasons change their forest, as they grew tall and strong? How has this world changed in their lifetime? And how much more will it change before they're cut down or die?
The sycamore leans over the stream, like it wishes to catch its reflection in the water. As it stretches over the water and into the sky, it crowds the pine. Skeletal sycamore branches jut through verdant pine needles. Does the pine ever feel claustrophobic? It's rooted in place, eternally bound to the sycamore. Does it ever wish for privacy? Or maybe personal space isn't a concern nature shares with me.
The sycamore tree wraps a long branch around the pine, like an arm around a shoulder. A gesture of familiarity and friendship. And if not friendship, then what? Are they strangers? Indifferent neighbors?
No, I believe it's friendship.
Hushed and observant, trees would make for great listeners. I sit in silence and try to learn.
We were both drawn to trees for this week's post. I'm intrigued by your perspective here, reading the trees as friends, neighbors, siblings. I'm often struck, especially in the winter, by how alien trees seem, how totally inhuman. I'll have to reconsider how I relate to trees after reading this piece. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteSitting still has rewarded you - and us - with a vivid snapshot of place. I'm struck by the image of the trees entangled with human detritus but enduring in spite of it. I'm also intrigued by the personification of the trees and how thoughtfully you've considered them through your close attention.
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