Trees in lockdown became a metaphor for movement and the tangle of life during this time. Musing about them can bring us connection and clarity.
They make journeys through millennia and across vast distances, sending their seeds and pollen on the wind & the legs of insects. Inviting animals to live inside them and carry their seeds by foot or wing to a place they choose to settle. Maybe a mile away, maybe thousands, maybe to an island in the middle of the ocean.
All this time they’ve been experimenting with different ways to have sex- with themselves and with each other. Laying down new roots and creating new freedoms, providing homes for the creatures that will help them travel agin; cutting ‘apron strings’.
Looking at satellite photos I see rivers sculpting trees on the landscape, tributaries branching out. But with rivers the water flows the opposite way from high to low, always seeking fellow waters to join. Trees, by contrast pump water from root to leaf, seeking altitude and travelling in the air. Maybe the vapours are following the seeds.
Here are some of the trees we sent to each other from our physically disconnected worlds.
Tree standing alone noble connected to the field where you belong on a gentle slope short distance from hawthorn hedge, seed blown by Mother Nature's spiritual wind to the place she wanted you to take root and grow. Destiny. Maura O'Neill
A selection of photos by Maura, Anna, Patrick & Ruth
Walk with native Irish trees along the river willows overhang saileach, sallies, pliant wands for osiers nearby, alders keep their feet in water shaking aspens, cran creathac, give their name to Glencree, Glan Critheac quaking valley where my friend lives shows us her fairy tree, hawthorn early blossom we may not bring indoors. Druids know oak groves are sacred places of wisdom, rituals, sacrifice rowantrees have powers of enchantment hazel wands divine where water lies hazel scrub with holly form understorey for taller forest trees. On my way back I hug an old Scots pine recall a walk under an arch of yews towards the alter, a giant tree, two thousand years of age, still standing there. Lives of trees and people intertwine rooted in cycles of the natural world. Rosy Wilson
Here we go again... leaves shed by sleepy trees whirl by in a blustery gale rain spills from gutters, glossy berries, bitter sloes, glisten. Here we go again... on parole in our own homes plagued by uncertainty the wind sucks noisily on the stove pipe, scatters countless ripe acorns in the grass. Judy Russell
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