These trees, I do not understand. I speculate their ancient wisdom, their fame for holding, in the tight folds of their rings, tectonic shifts, memories of empires, stories of great beasts, today’s quarreling blue jays.
I stop beside a particularly impressive one and take a picture. I was here! exclaims the picture.
Over there, one from the Renaissance, a youngster, and there in a hollow, one from the time of Charlemagne, and this one, I lean on, from Constantine.
Centuries of monastic listening, sifting the air for mist, tracking the movement of light, has furnished them with a deep quiet strength, open to conversion, able to wade the leveling floods, endure the storms of fire, scores of killing droughts — surviving everything, prayerfully, even the clamor of humans.
And here I am, picayune tourist, hoping to trade on something large, enlargening, pocket a bit of old-growth repose for my existential resume.
But I stop. Pause. Call up my inner sparrow and place my cheek on a cleft of bark, ancient as the time of Christ, and as inscrutable, and wait.
This long journey out of the self, with all its detours, its dark thickets, its wash-outs and stoic winters, what drives it?
Even this diluvial Sequoia, at the crack of germination, was kissed by death (and did not flinch to kiss it back).
I look up, even the lowest limb is unreachable, hidden by height.
These trees. And all I know is that I like it here. Wandering among them, wondering at them like a newborn, watching the pleated light of a noonday sun jazz the matted floor with mottled yellows, sweet as jelly beans. Giving me one more March day.
I have an old-growth monastic listener right outside of my window that often moves me to wonder and appreciation here in what I call “the enchanted forest”. I appreciate your gift and calling as a master of language.
Thank you for this Kellie. That means a lot.
I haven’t seen the redwoods, but this poem reminds me of the cedars on the road between Nanaimo and Tofino, BC. Lovely to walk under and meditate on the Creator’s goodness.
Thanks Don, I love those trees, especially around Cathedral Grove.
AWE ! – -the trees, the Creator, and your portrayal !
Thank you Ike!
Oh the beauty and depth in these words and musings – I share your affinity for trees – thank you for sharing this beauty.
Thanks Sue! Truly appreciated.
“And all I know is that I like it here.” I love that line. I find that sometimes simple delight is more powerful than the knowledge. The delight is what brings the communion.
I like that Ann. “Simple delight more powerful than knowledge.” Thank you!
Love your jazzy noon day sun ( as well as the trees)
Ha! Thanks Terry Ann!
Contemplating my own inner sparrow – two for a farthing, yet access to the top of the tree!
I like that Sam! Thanks!
All I know, is I like it here
wandering in your words
and always
finding the sweet jellybeans!
Ah, thank you kind friend.
You’ve successfully transmitted the peace and space of the wonder you felt among those trees. I’m grateful for the access you give the reader! I will keep coming back to this.
Thank you my friend! Appreciate you Dana.