Trees have always felt like friends for me. I have a deep love for their presence in the world. As a small child I lived in a wooded area of Texas. I have vague memories of the patterns of leaves cast in shadow upon the ground. In my grandpa’s cow pasture there was an ancient oak that my brother, cousins and I gathered around and played beneath its branches. It was over a hundred years old and we liked to imagine what the tree might have seen in its life time. After years of not having trees in our yard, a neighbor gave us a magnolia tree. It was not doing well cramped in its clay pot. My husband planted it. I believe in talking to trees, so I went out every morning and offered it encouraging words. I don’t know if the words helped the tree (it bloomed this year) but my time with the tree helps me. It provide a place to slow down, breathe and focus on a still and silent life. Trees are rooted. They stay were they are put. They will thrive in good circumstances and perish in harsh ones. Each is made to thrive in a particular climate and area. Some thrive many places, others do not. For all but a few years of my life, I have lived in the same area in different houses. I need the sky to be a familiar sky with a familiar landscape. I am rooted here and I am thankful.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

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