The Noland Trail Bloggin

12/2

It's hard to express how amazed I was when I saw this tree. These two pictures do not do it justice. At first glance, I thought there were several small trees growing out of the stump of and old, dead tree. In fact, the stump at the base is the trunk of all these smaller shoots. I stood before this tree for nearly ten minutes staring silently like a crazy person. Passersby were confused but I didn't mind. This tree captivated me. I almost felt like it knew I was there. It wasn't calling out to me or trying to draw my attention; rather, I felt like I was encountering a wild animal. 

Whenever I go for late night walks at home, I cross paths with deer in my neighborhood. There are two things I've noticed about deer. First, they always see you before you see them. By the time I realize there's a deer near me and I take the time to look at it, the deer is always staring at me first. Second, deer only tolerate your presence on their terms. I can't simply walk up to the deer and pet it. There is an unspoken agreement between the deer and I that as long as I keep my distance and mean no harm, it won't run off. 

The tree in the pictures above gave me the same feeling as a deer. It permitted me to look at it, to take pictures of it, even to feel it. After a time, though, the tree made it clear that I should move on. I felt like the tree was patient with me. I felt like it was wise and humble. 

I don't write poetry, but I could think of no other way to write down my thoughts about this tree and this encounter. So instead of writing down bullet points on the appearance of the tree and how it made me feel, I wrote the following:

Hello, Marvel. You have many names. 

Phoenix. 

Hydra. 

Warrior. 

Survivor. 

You are ancient, and yet you sprout in youth again.

Smooth dark gray trunks shoot

from your coarse gnarled base. 

This is not reincarnation; this is resilience. 

We all thought you were dead, your once towering body collapsing to the wet earth. 

I wouldn't be surprised if you outlive us all. 

How is it you grew again? You are not the tree you once were. 

Thank you. 

Again, I do not write poetry. This was not a great work of art. But it's all I could offer. The tree, of course, was silent. Still, I felt it respond with humble thanks. Would I say I have a friendship or any kind of relationship with this tree? No. That's absurd. But the tree seems way more alive to me than before. The tree seems to have its own spirit. Though I highly doubt trees have souls, I still managed to have a meaningful encounter with one.