‘Apprehend God in all things, for God is in all things.’ So said Meister Eckhart.
In this woodland garden,
trees are a constant reminder to us of the Presence, branches soaring
heavenward, roots hidden deep in the earth. I had no idea before we came to
live here that there were different types of oak tree. Amongst the rhododendron
and silver birch, we think there are two different sorts in the garden – a
couple of Sessile and maybe an English oak. There is another just over the
fence in the woods which seems to have adopted us – at least that’s how it feels
when the leaves drop! We often wonder
how old they are – a hundred years maybe – young for oak. We are the guests
here, enjoying the hospitality of their presence. I discover each year another sapling growing
where the squirrels have hidden their store and am amazed by how deep the tap
root of an oak sapling grows. It is also possible to fill a wheelbarrow full
with acorns each autumn – each one a potential oak tree – imagine, a forest in
a barrow! The canopy is home to birds and insects, lichen and all sorts of
other life in micro form. And then there
is the autumn carpet of leaves which is beginning to form again. Wonderful
to behold.
On my walks through the
woods behind us, there are other oaks which silently inspire and speak to my
spirit. There is ‘fallen oak’, which fell in the storm of ’87. Over the years,
our children have climbed it, made dens around the trunk lying amongst
bluebells and I have from time to time sat in the crook of a branch reading, or
just sat delighting. Until recently, ‘fallen oak’ has come into leaf each year
with a regular crop of acorns. This season it is waning, limbs darkened, bark flaking,
its bulk shrinking into the ground. Fallen, waning, yet present and beautiful,
an icon of the natural rhythm and mystery of life. I am deeply thankful as I
touch, pause and walk my way home.
Peace be with you
When I am among
the trees,
especially the
willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech,
the oaks and the pines,
they give off such
hints of gladness.
I would almost say
that they save me, daily.
I am so distant
from the hope of myself,
in which I have
goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry
through the world
but walk slowly,
and bow often.
Around me the
trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay
awhile.”
The light flows
from their branches.
And they call
again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have
come
into the world to
do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to
shine.”
Mary Oliver
