Among the Trees

Orinda Highlands, CA

When I was eight we moved to a blue house on a short, quiet street. At the end of the street there was a narrow strip of trees, which seemed like a forest to my small self. Beyond the trees was an open field, with a shallow pond that filled with tadpoles in the spring and a hill to one side perfect for winter sledding.

For the next few years these trees and this pond with its surrounding field became my playground and my refuge. Although I would not have described it this way then, I realize now it was my first intimate experience with nature.

Throughout the summers I could be found in those trees, and one in particular became a good friend. High in its branches, unseen by the rest of the world, I dreamed myself away. I joined the tree in swaying with the breezes that came across the field dense with summer fragrance, and in welcoming the songs of the birds all around me.

Today, more than 60 years later, I am still drawn to the trees. Although I’m no longer climbing to the top, they sustain me with their soft murmuring, their deep shadows, their constantly evolving beauty. I’ve come to believe that, as Mary Oliver wrote, “I would almost say that they save me, and daily”.

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When I am Among the Trees

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

— Mary Oliver