Trees

Do you know it took the earth, our home, four billion years to make a tree? They are living sculptures and, listen to this one: they defy gravity. They grow up, not down, their heads toward the sky, their feet enriching the earth.

Playing around with my fantasies-which I love to do, hope you do, too-I imagine, when the world was young, I was a Druid. A born-again Druid. Druids loved-still love-trees. It’s part of their lore. They visit the woods and trees to meditate and stuff. I have a huge Banyan with enough room within its generous belly to climb inside and assume the lotus.

I love to climb trees. When I was just a kid a girl friend’s mother told me I would outgrow the urge. Grew up determined to prove her wrong.  My old puppy, Boots, loves to climb trees. My cats love to climb trees. My noisy Macaw loves-loved- to fly into tall leafy thick ones.  Birds, by the score, who sing sweeter than honey in a pot, make their homes there.

Tree surround me. My house is swallowed. They have to be constantly taught to stay out from under the roof. I mean they have all outdoors, for goodness’ sakes. Once I took a picture of our ‘new’ house from a steep green bank and my husband said, “It looks like a house buried in a jungle.”

A friend from the NTBG said he felt like he was in an Honduran rain forest.  He also said I had the largest elephant ears he’d ever seen. Elephant ears aren’t trees but the get along with them.

I have another Banyan who creatively resides in the middle of the house. Actually it’s a spot that was supposed to be an aviary dividing the barn end of the house from the people end.  He, or she- do trees have sex?- yeah, some do. Papayas are male and female-or something. The lady ones make golden fruit-that’s par-that tastes like kisses sweeter than wine.

On Kauai we have so many trees our island greenith over. Some of my favorites are the trees many others think of as pests. The African Tulip is one. I adore them. Their huge orange blossoms fall to earth creating a living, breathing, dancing, magic carpet. It lifts and falls with the breeze, with the patter of feet-canine, feline, human, avian-who do the walk about and stir them up.

Humans write poem about trees. Joyce Kilmer, “I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree…”

Carl Jung wrote, “Trees in particular were mysterious, and seemed to me direct embodiments of the incomprehensible meaning of life. For that reason, the woods were the place that I felt closest to the deepest meaning and to its awe inspiring workings.”

We would not be here today, if it were not for the trees. Wow!!! Run right outside- immediately- and hug and kiss one. That’s an order.

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