Tag Archives: trees

A Dialogue

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There is a frame of mind
that says “leave as you find.
Let the great oak alone
and spare the ancient stone
for they serve a purpose
if one looks beneath the surface
of things”.
Others bring
to bare a mind
which no beauty doth find
in oak and stone
“for they stand in the way
Of a brighter day”.
“But if you pull the tree down
what then supports the ground?
For the roots go deep
and people weep
when the oak falls
on ancient halls”.
“Let us wield the axe and be glad
for the old ways are bad.
New seed we will sow
The past must go”.
They are arguing still
As the sun sinks
o’er vale and hill.

Stopping Off

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Bending, I trace the weathered stone resting peacefully in the grass. Being blind I know not who slumbers below, but hope they sleep well.

Birds sing. My dog investigates the plants growing in and around the grave, his warm head finds my hand, looking for an answer, “why have we stopped so close to home?” he seems to ask.

Turning, I run my hands over the rough bark of a huge tree. I notice a split in the midst of this mighty oak. Slowly the tree is dying. It won’t go soon unless storm uproots it but, in time the split will deepen, church wardens will consult. Perhaps staves will be employed to support the tree or, maybe a few blows of the woodman’s axe will bring it down for the safety of the community.

Intellectually I know death will one day find me but, standing here I feel no fear, only a curiosity about this place.

A Walk In Woolton Woods

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This morning my mum, her partner, the 2 dogs and I visited Woolton Woods and Camp Hill which are a 10 minute drive from my mum’s home.

The ancient woods where full of the scent of newly mown grass, the heady smell being heightened by the showers which for brief periods chased the sun away.

Both the woods and Camp Hill which abut them contain many ancient oaks. I have always had an affinity with these great trees which derives from happy recollections of collecting acorns with my grandfather. I love the smooth feel of the outer shell of the acorn and how it contrasts with the softer seed within.

One huge oak branch lay on the ground. The wood felt hard to the touch indicating that it haden’t resided long on the woodland floor and was, perhaps a casualty of the recent after effects of the tail end of the hurricane which recently invaded our shores.

A large tree stump stood on the ground it’s roots still clearly visible. The great cycle had begun with grass growing out of this once venerable tree as, imperceptibly decay set in. In years to come this tree trunk will, no doubt fertilise the woodland floor allowing new saplings to take it’s place.

Feeling a little self conscious I tried to put my arms around a huge oak. Unsurprisingly they reached barely halfway round the trunk. The rough bark felt good under my hands, the tree and I sharing a connection – both products of nature’s rich tapestry. This great oak and the others surrounding it have been there long before I was born and unless a mighty natural disaster uproots them will remain long after I have ceased to be. Whenever I see ancient trees the paltry arrogance of humanity is put firmly in it’s place. Those oaks have doubtless seen generations come and go, people living what, for them are lives full of meaning while the great trees look on silently watching generation succeed generation.

Thoughts On A Windy Day

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Wind gusting on a spring day, you speak to me of freedom, of things beyond expression. Eternal force blowing forever on ancient peoples and now on me. You care not for civilisation, your gusts of laughter shake the bending trees. You blew before these buildings came, when all is gone you will remain.

Sometimes like a gentle girl, your soft caresses delight the world. At other times cold and sharp, your ice laden gusts freeze human hearts.

You are a force beyond control, you dwell within the human soul.

Waiting for the Storm

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Sitting here waiting. The sound of distant traffic interspersed with fireworks. London waits but for what? A storm which will uproot mighty oaks which have stood unmolested for centuries surviving all that the elements have thrown at them. Public transport in chaos, not leaves but whole trees on the line. Confused commuters milling around in search of that most elusive of objects – a train! Wind buffeting pedestrians. Street signs sway precariously. An overturned rubbish bin rolls merrily down hill.

Or perhaps it will pass London by. Perhaps. London waits, holds it’s breath waiting for the storm.

Shades Of The Prison House Begin To Close Around The Growing Boy

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Walking in the park something smooth and round under my feet. I long to explore like the small boy I once was, to bend down and pick it up. What will people think, A strange middle-aged man bending over in a park full of autumn? The child thirsting for discovery contends with the staid adult who stands on ceremony. The child wins. I bend retrieving the smooth round conker. No not quite smooth but beautiful in it’s imperfection, soft in my hands. Should I take it home to harden in the dark like the small boy I once was?

Thoughts of my grandfather. Walking in the woods full of autumn. Us two together gathering nature’s fallen fruit. Opening acorns my blind hands feeling the kernel inside. Part of something I didn’t then understand.

The conker slips from my hands. I bend trying to retrieve the fallen prize. So many conkers, impossible to know which one it is.

I return home and play rough and tumble with my dog. His tail wags furiously no sad thoughts fill his head.

Ramblings

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Something intangible is passing, perhaps it is long since gone. Walking among these trees, I feel sadness carried on the breeze. Something  great and profound has vanished, forever lost in the mists of time. Soon the leaves will fall to the ground, rich golden brown. Something is gone, impossible to express or define, that which is destroyed by time.

I can not express what I want to say, words fly erratically away. Trees representing permanence stand but something is lost, I only dimly understand.