![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
someone said:
To be able to hear the speech of the trees is a gift I've always treasured.
I said:
You mean the Murmur, the Leafwhisper, the Song of Amber Blood, the Grumbling Grandfather Bark, the way the wind is a free and gleeful messenger?
I realize, saying this, that I can sketch my neighbourhood in trees.
There is the Little Magnolia In Front Of My House who has long been my friend, even before I knew the Birch Lady in back, who has been pining and wailing for her long-dead Birch Lord for years now. Little Magnolia was prognosed to die after serious surgery so that the damn asphalt truck could lay some kind of sealant on the street this summer -- they had to lop off huge amounts of branches all down the street. But Little Magnolia didn't seem inclined to (just like xe didn't when the city cut out huge amounts of xir roots to put in a different sewer cleanout), and just to be safe I took a twig from her and put it on my one real Goddess statue, of Dana. She and I together. I gave some of my own life into that tree. It was NOT GOING TO DIE DAMMIT.
Birch Lady herself... ailing. I can only wonder when she is going to die and follow her single-trunked, fungus-killed Lord. That happened years ago. Seven? Ten? Fifteen? She is still majestic and silver and green, but... balding. Dying. Tired. I need to plant a new sapling. She no longer has it in her to engender any more. Raw milk will not help.
The Other Magnolias up and down the street. The missing Pine who used to be in the yard next door and shade our yard. The tall evergreen across the street. I wanted to say Redwood and Sequoia both, but I don't think he's either, nor is he a Spruce... what is he anyway? I should find out.
The ghosts of Pines that used to tear up our driveway and sewer. They haven't been there since I was... three? four? One of my earliest memories, now reduced to body-sense, the smell of needles, something I can only fully recall if I look at photographs.
The Sweetgum (Maple relatives with spiky balls) I swung from, there, across the street, between one house and the house that used to be![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shalora and twopiearr's.
The Peach tree hanging over the fence of the expensive house on Lime and Yorktown by whom I was gifted one single white donut peach this past summer. People's front-yard Apricots and Cherries, some of whom I have eaten from. Shel Silverstein made a grave error to use a singular article on the phrase "Giving Tree"...
The Other Birch and the Overachieving Persimmon (who blooms in January) at the end of the street. Their roommate in that same front yard, Olive. Olive's cousin at the other end of the block, Olive II. The strange falling, breaking tree at the end of the alley that leads to Starbucks.
The several Ginkgos I pass by every day at work. Some kind of Poplar (?) which I have followed every day since January, and used to do so in the other six years I worked there, like the Plum? Cherry? trees I drove past into the parking garage. Every day. Like watching children grow up, and become adults, and die, and become children again. Year after year. Trees have it good.
The Redwood with a strange haircut, presumably so it doesn't hurt the building it's next to, standing tall next to the Learning Center, probably has been there longer than the building, and was built around. The wailing of the many that were taken out to build new buildings and parking lots. I'm only just now getting used to the new horizon line. The Oaks which have never yet pelted me with an acorn, though perhaps not for lack of trying this autumn -- there, and there, on the patio, in front of the library. The Palms, gloating that here they can soak up the sun without having to deal with the hurricanes.
To be able to hear the speech of the trees is a gift I've always treasured.
I said:
You mean the Murmur, the Leafwhisper, the Song of Amber Blood, the Grumbling Grandfather Bark, the way the wind is a free and gleeful messenger?
I realize, saying this, that I can sketch my neighbourhood in trees.
There is the Little Magnolia In Front Of My House who has long been my friend, even before I knew the Birch Lady in back, who has been pining and wailing for her long-dead Birch Lord for years now. Little Magnolia was prognosed to die after serious surgery so that the damn asphalt truck could lay some kind of sealant on the street this summer -- they had to lop off huge amounts of branches all down the street. But Little Magnolia didn't seem inclined to (just like xe didn't when the city cut out huge amounts of xir roots to put in a different sewer cleanout), and just to be safe I took a twig from her and put it on my one real Goddess statue, of Dana. She and I together. I gave some of my own life into that tree. It was NOT GOING TO DIE DAMMIT.
Birch Lady herself... ailing. I can only wonder when she is going to die and follow her single-trunked, fungus-killed Lord. That happened years ago. Seven? Ten? Fifteen? She is still majestic and silver and green, but... balding. Dying. Tired. I need to plant a new sapling. She no longer has it in her to engender any more. Raw milk will not help.
The Other Magnolias up and down the street. The missing Pine who used to be in the yard next door and shade our yard. The tall evergreen across the street. I wanted to say Redwood and Sequoia both, but I don't think he's either, nor is he a Spruce... what is he anyway? I should find out.
The ghosts of Pines that used to tear up our driveway and sewer. They haven't been there since I was... three? four? One of my earliest memories, now reduced to body-sense, the smell of needles, something I can only fully recall if I look at photographs.
The Sweetgum (Maple relatives with spiky balls) I swung from, there, across the street, between one house and the house that used to be
shalora and twopiearr's.The Peach tree hanging over the fence of the expensive house on Lime and Yorktown by whom I was gifted one single white donut peach this past summer. People's front-yard Apricots and Cherries, some of whom I have eaten from. Shel Silverstein made a grave error to use a singular article on the phrase "Giving Tree"...
The Other Birch and the Overachieving Persimmon (who blooms in January) at the end of the street. Their roommate in that same front yard, Olive. Olive's cousin at the other end of the block, Olive II. The strange falling, breaking tree at the end of the alley that leads to Starbucks.
The several Ginkgos I pass by every day at work. Some kind of Poplar (?) which I have followed every day since January, and used to do so in the other six years I worked there, like the Plum? Cherry? trees I drove past into the parking garage. Every day. Like watching children grow up, and become adults, and die, and become children again. Year after year. Trees have it good.
The Redwood with a strange haircut, presumably so it doesn't hurt the building it's next to, standing tall next to the Learning Center, probably has been there longer than the building, and was built around. The wailing of the many that were taken out to build new buildings and parking lots. I'm only just now getting used to the new horizon line. The Oaks which have never yet pelted me with an acorn, though perhaps not for lack of trying this autumn -- there, and there, on the patio, in front of the library. The Palms, gloating that here they can soak up the sun without having to deal with the hurricanes.
no subject
Date: Oct. 25th, 2007 01:37 pm (UTC)From:I remember talking with the tree beings as early as age 3, when the great spruces in the wind helped me breathe thru an asthma attack when no parents were present. As far as I can tell, they saved my life.
**to memories for later.. work, agh!**
no subject
Date: Oct. 25th, 2007 07:00 pm (UTC)From:Oh yes, there are several such people hanging around on my friends list.
no subject
Date: Oct. 25th, 2007 09:41 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: Oct. 25th, 2007 11:41 pm (UTC)From:The maples in my old backyard that no longer stand. The Crabapple near to them that used to bloom so beautifully but had to be cut down due to fungal infection.
The immense Sweet Gum that is the only one left now out of all of them who used to speak to me and teach me. He still greets me whenever I pass by the old place.
The large white dogwood and smaller pink one in the front yard. Both gone now too.
The Mighty Oaks of my elementary school playground who used to teach me also, who so enjoyed the laughter and play of we children, giving us their acorns to grind amongst their roots for "pretend" flour. All cut down to make room for a new track and field for the middle school next door. I didn't know it was happening until it was done, or I would have sought to salvage some of their wood.
The Maple by my front door, who wasn't sure about us when we first moved in, but now stands as a Guardian for us.
The Crepe Myrtle who was the only one outside the Circle during Hurricane Isabel, the one who fell. We went outside and told her that we couldn't lift her back into place, that we'd have to cut her down, and we sent her soul into the earth. She surprised us though. After her broken body was cut down and hauled away, she sprang forth anew from her roots and now is as tall as ever. She is wild now though, instead of the manicured tree form she once had.
The trees in the parking lot at work: maple, pine, sweet gum, oak, dogwood and hawthorn. Most were there when the building was built, once part of the woods. They tell me the weather 4 days out. I pray for rain for them when they ask. Together we enjoy the flight of the red tailed hawk and the scampering of the squirrels.
no subject
Date: Oct. 26th, 2007 05:01 am (UTC)From:Tell that to the California natives who subsisted on the stuff. :) I want to try making acorn bread someday, actually.