Protective arms

I’ve been back from my world tour for over two months now and I find I only want to stay nestled in the wind grove of trees that surround my home. So much so, that I have yet to go into the water at Roaring Beach, nor even venture down to the beach except for two brief walks with friends.

On one hand, strange. Strange that for twelve hundred and twelve days without a miss I once faithfully went into the waves of Roaring Beach; always delighting in the interaction with the wetness of water. Through three Christmases my mistress of the sea gave to me many gifts.

On the other hand, as I look out through the sturdy trunks of trees that serve, in no small way, as protective bars housing my healing heart, maybe this is my sleep time; a time to go inward, to gestate, to hide, to be quiet, to listen, and to love the little small cub bear seeking an inner womb of nourishment.

Somedays, I’m just holding on.

It’s good that the trees are within reach.

Their constant proximity gives me cause to “think about these brothers and sisters, quietly and deeply.”

The Trees

Do you think of them as decoration?

Think again.

Here are maples flashing.
And here are the oaks, holding on all winter
to their dry leaves.
And here are the pines, that will never fail,
until death, the instruction to be green.
And here are the willows, the first
to pronounce a new year.

May I invite you to revise your thoughts about them?
Oh, Lord, how we are all for invention and
advancement!
But I think
it would do us good if we would think about
these brothers and sisters, quietly and deeply.

The trees, the trees, just holding on
to the old, holy ways.

Mary Oliver