The Trees, Our Companions

I The trees stand upright like us, standing is our common posture, and their branches like our arms stretch out, penetrating the middle air or more obscurely, stretch up, as we do when we invoke a power beyond our own... And rootedness which is their metier gives us another metaphor, or is it an aspiration? To feel so completely at home in a particular place, to find our feelings echoed by the space we claim as ours. Of course, they make no claims, not on us, for sure, but also not on Mother Earth. Isn't the interplay of roots and dirt a beautiful thing to contemplate? It is the moving downward to chthonic depths, with roots knitting a unity of depth and surface we witness and applaud. II From my balcony I see two trees and metaphors multiply. They are sentinels of the yard, they are priests blessing the small animals which scurry over and around them. They are pillars of a vast open temple which upholds the sky it worships. They are soldiers at attention committed to protecting this garden space. They are friends of my heart and their conversation, so sweet when breezes fan their leaves, becomes profound in the night air and quiets whatever remains of day.