i often find myself with trees on the brain. there is something infinitely captivating about a tree. how old is it? what birds have sung amongst its branches? they are also ever-changing, in perfect sync with the world. there are also the memories i have of being amongst trees which make me love them. we are welcome to dream, to climb, and to ponder in their presence. magic can exist for a moment when the wind rustles the branches and the leaves play their own music in the golden sun. we are brought back closer to where we belong.
*there is a poem i stumbled upon in a copy of "100 classic poems" given to me by a friend. the poem is "trees" by james joyce (1914).
- I THINK that I shall never see
- A poem lovely as a tree.
- A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
- Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
- A tree that looks at God all day,
- And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
- A tree that may in Summer wear
- A nest of robins in her hair;
- Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
- Who intimately lives with rain.
- Poems are made by fools like me,
- But only God can make a tree.