Trees and Seasons
The trees are full of leaves in this land of evergreens. I like these trees – now heavy with rain, their shine dulled. But not like death; like resting. Like going within to absorb all that nourishing water.
In this small town, the rainforest is ever present – on the surrounding hills, and still in welcome remnants lining our streets.
This is Autumn. Some few trees do lose their leaves. My frangipani which has grown to cover my whole front wall, begins its shedding. It will be beautifully bare for Winter, its curving branches stretching and crossing in a random, leisurely lattice-work.
My childhood trees were willow (introduced) and blue gum (native). The willow I liked best in Spring, making a canopy around me when I sat on the swing my Dad made, hanging from a strong low branch. In Spring that canopy was tenderest green. Soft light shone through, filtered. Hours I dreamed and swung … or simply dreamed, trailing my feet on the ground, seeking the sky through the topmost arc: invisible, private, safe.
The blue gum, in a different corner of the yard, was the tree I climbed. I was timid in some ways, and fearful of heights, but this was a solid, spreading tree, easy to access from the wooden fence underneath. The horizontal support beams were just the right heights to make a cling-and-scramble ladder.
My first big step from fence to tree put me in a wide hollow in the lower branches – a resting-place with a floor, a firm back, and safe walls. I used to tuck a book into my belt as I climbed, then sit up there and read for hours among the air and the leaves. When I heard Mum calling, I didn’t respond.
‘Where were you?’ she'd ask when I finally showed.
‘Just reading,’ I’d say, deliberately vague. My blue gum sanctuary was secret.
Robert Graves told me years later, in The White Goddess, that repeatedly sitting under a willow would make one a poet.
Later still, trained in various forms of energy healing, I was given one 'from Spirit', characterised by colour – the same grey-blue, I eventually recalled, as the leaves of my nurturing gum.
Written for Weekly Scribblings #63: Trees at Poets and Storytellers United
A marvelous exposition, R. Thanks. (Mostly) all we have up here is evergreens.
ReplyDeleteA gentle pairing of words and photos, Rosemary, and what a joy to read about your frangipani again! I particularly enjoyed the paragraphs about the spring canopy and the blue gum. I love the thought that ‘repeatedly sitting under a willow would make one a poet’. We have a willow in our garden and I frequently sit under it during the summer months!
ReplyDeleteWell, that proves it! LOL.
DeleteThere must be so many of us that had childhood climbing trees or exploring woods. It has such great memories for me.
ReplyDeleteMe too. I wish all children could have that.
DeleteWe used to have two beautiful willows in my neighborhood, but they were sadly cut down. And I am serious jealous that you got to read up in the branches of a tree. That sounds lovely!
ReplyDeleteIt was indeed. Willows can be a nuisance. As Brother Ollie says (below) they tend to interfere with building foundations. So those in your neighbourhood may have had to be removed. I bet you miss them all the same.
DeleteAren't we lucky to have the private time that we took for granted back then. It was wonderful for you to have the willow tree 'blessing'. At what age did you start writing poetry? Where might I find how the Box Elder trees I had were influencing me? Google might be of help, I'll check.
ReplyDeleteI believe I wrote my first poem when I was seven. (I still have it.) My Mum always swore I began when I was three. I don't remember that, but even if it's true, I seriously doubt I was WRITING them then.
DeleteThe elder has much mythology attached, which you'll certainly find on Google. A very sacred tree! I don't know about box elders, but I suppose the same would apply to all varieties of elder.
Isn't it lovely to be in love with trees?
ReplyDeleteYes!
DeleteWillows are my favourite tree...but not near one's house. Foundation detroyers.
ReplyDeleteTrue. We had a huge back yard and our willow was down the far corner of it.
DeleteRosemary and Her Trees ... the Story! Love the images and description of you as a girl .... I spent hours and hours under our willow tree as a girl ....
ReplyDeleteWell there you go, yet more proof it turns us into poets!
DeleteA lovely narrative Rosemary
ReplyDeleteMuch💜love
Trees were such an integral part of our childhood, from the old prickly pear we climbed to the willow at grandma's we could hide under. I planted my own willow a few years ago. It's slow growing but beginning to show it's graceful side. Thanks for your gift of trees!
ReplyDeleteOh, and thank you for sharing your own stories!
DeleteLove your tree stories. I had a reading tree; I wish every kid could
ReplyDeleteOh, I'm glad you had one too. And yes, if only every child could.
DeleteLovely.
ReplyDeleteHow lovely to recall your special tree. Lovely photos to mark each one.
ReplyDeleteWillows are special (and my wife's favorite tree) with the drooping canopy that invites solitude. I'm not as familiar with the blue gum so I must look it up.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing wonderful memories.
As season changes so does the nature of the trees and our emotions too, you have very well captured this essence in the post.
ReplyDeleteThank you!
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