I go into the woods as myself. Grateful, uncertain, and whatever else I am that day. I am adept and used to ignoring questions from people who don’t want to know the answer anyway. But given a chance, the trees whisper strange things. I’m never quite ready. Always a little caught off guard by their boldness.
Why are you afraid to rest? Trees have a documented habit of never going anywhere. It’s hard to pretend they don’t have time to wait while I think their questions over.
Why are you afraid to need something? Why are people so afraid to not be okay? Their communication system is nothing if not sophisticated. When I don’t stop to consider and walk on ignoring them, their thirtieth cousin fourteen times removed takes up the conversation. An oak tree on the edge of a field asks me why I feel embarrassed at the idea of taking care of myself. I roll my eyes irritated with the stupidity of trees. I do not allow my steps to betray an interest in the question through slight pause or increased pace.
Three hundred yards later, a white pine asks why I think weakness is shameful. And what’s so noble about strength? asks the next tree beside it. A snot nosed little punk of a half dead wanna be excuse for a tree tries to tease out the subtle lines between strength and pretending.
A solemn clearly a woman tree, says something I’ve heard before. Not with emotion, but like a well known fact: true and bound to stay that way. My strength is made perfect in weakness. I hear it like a whisper on the wind but I don’t know what to do with it. It’s not one of the facts I completely understand. Every time the leaves rustle she says it again. If I’d been asked to play with the words a bit before they went to the publisher, I would have suggested some changes. Strength doesn’t mind weakness? Something like that, but it’s a little late now.
I don’t answer the trees that day. I go on a hike for Thanksgiving and take pictures. Afterwards I look at them. Broken trees, dead trees, falling down trees, crooked trees, mixed up together trees. I can’t find one that doesn’t seem beautiful. Or any that I wished hadn’t been there. Not a single one I thought should have looked like something other than what it was that day.
And there are supposed to be two or three more pictures here but for reasons unknown to me the program refused to allow this last night or this morning. Please thou therefore use thy imagination to flesh out the particulars and I’ll comfort myself with the fact that imagination trumps electronic representations of reality.