What whispers do the trees have for you?

On what we hear when we fall still enough to listen

With summer comes hours spent beneath and with an oak tree in my local park.

Working, yes.

But also being.

Back to ground, held by earth. Air full with the bickering squawks of magpies and crows arguing over the morsels found nestled amongst thirsty, crunchy grass. Robins and wrens and blackbirds tucked away safely from the drama, up in the edges, singing and calling to each other amongst tree boughs. Bees getting on with the important work of foraging for pollen and nectar. The heartbeats of life syncopating all around and within me, too.

Later this year, this particular heartbeat turns 40. I’m bearing witness to my body slowly shifting into a different form – some new wrinkles here, some new softness there. I’ve written previously about my struggles with my body and appearance. With ageing, the techniques I’ve learned to try and counter the internalised narratives of body shame that rain down on us are facing new tests.

What I hadn’t anticipated was Oak as elder, as teacher.

Sitting with Oak, as I have done many times before, this time they spoke with me anew. Their wrinkles, their girth, their thickness, held within them a dare.

They house so much life – ants, bees, ladybirds, other insects I don’t recognise. Mistlethrush, woodpigeons, blue tits, magpies, crows. Oak is a living citadel.

They house so much history – ‘How old are you?’ I have asked many times. ‘What have you witnessed?’ ‘Are you lonely, here, away from your kin?’ Oak is a living archive.

Every crack within the bark of their trunk, every scarred branch, carries their story and the story of this land.

Here too, fresh leaves, budding baby acorns swaddled in their shells. Springy, soft green branches sprouted from their older, brown kin. There is newness here. Life growing, still. Oak is not too old to keep creating.

And, well. This time, Oak had a few choice words for me…

Trunk

The prayer for tree trunk legs
Was one I never uttered
Feeling instead a curse
Cast upon these thighs

Yet the prayer for tree trunk legs
Was one answered
By ones
Who hear

And Oak today
Taught me
Its words

Oak sinks, thick in trunk
Rooted deep and far within earth
Spacious to drink, feed, hold, entangle

Oak rises, thick in trunk
Branched high and far within air
Spacious to shelter, feed, breathe, blossom

Dimpled wrinkled ringéd Oak says:
For this is how we survive
For this is how we serve
For this is how we grow
For this is how we elder

And you, my girl, gifted two!

What I would give for two,
Oak chuckles,
With dreams of what could have been

And so I say a blessing
For these tree trunk legs
With words taught
By Oak
And thank the ones
Who heard

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What conversations have you had with the trees around you?

What exchanges, what wisdoms exchanged, received?

Are there any particular trees you’ve felt a special affinity and magnetism towards? How do you, and they, respond to the pull?

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A seemingly ancient tree a friend and I met while hiking yesterday, who exuded grandmother (grandparent?) energy. They stopped us in our tracks.