The Hanging Garden Tree
on the Tall Tree Trail, Meares Island,
in Clayoquot Sound
Trees are portals of living memory,
doorway to mystery and secret dimensions,
above and below-ground.
A tree is a vault of stored history,
songs and dances of the old ones,
They have recorded every lonely wolf howl,
caw of Raven, piercing cry of Eagle.
If you place your ear to a mossy trunk,
you might hear a whisper of whalesong;
lie down and listen under the earth,
to the pulse of life traveling
along the roots
across the forest floor.
It is sacred, here.
We enter their world as visitors.
In deep, deep peace,
our heart rate slows.
and are renewed.
I place my hand on your trunk,
with deep admiration.
Your forest, my cathedral,
I enter humbly, as a guest.
I come away transformed,
The word I am looking for, here,
I suppose, is reverence.
I borrowed the phrase "trees are portals" from advertising about an event to be held in Stanley Park, Vancouver, this summer by the Aeriosa and Spakwus Slulem Eagle Song Dancers. Their art card states "Old growth trees in Stanley Park are living portals. Witnesses of ancient Coast Salish celebrations and ceremonies, they are the connectors, the ones who will remember today's songs and dances when we too are gone." What a beautiful thing to think about. Befriend a tree, kids.......it will long remember you.
posted for Margaret's prompt at Real Toads for Day 4 of NaPoRiMo: to write a nature poem