Trees and magic

One thing I love about living in the country is witnessing the changing of the seasons. You go from that intense green of summer to the subtle hues of gold, burnt brown and amber as autumn tightens its grip on the land. As you drive you see the subtle change from green to light brown on the hillsides and the fluttering down of the first leaves as they make their way to carpet the ground. The change in season seems to calm everything down as animals and birds seem to have got over their frenzied mating and feeding routines and settled down to dust bathes and sunning themselves. The exception though is the horses - especially the foals which seem to be energised by the coolness and spend hours stretching their legs and playing with each other. Most of them are now weanlings and you know how adolescents can be - really fun to watch.

I love wandering down our land (we have a half acre) and watching as the Japanese maple turns various shades of orange, burntish red and just about every other shade in between. Their delicate leaves make the most beautiful subjects for pictures. My favourite tree in the whole garden though, is the big plane tree. Remember Enid Blyton's The Magic Faraway Tree? one of my favourite books of all time. Couldnt get enough of it as a child, and I am not ashamed to to admit I still read it from time to time. When I walk on its moss covered base I imagine that fairies dance around the fire there and sing songs on moonlight nights. I coudnt finish without mentioning the willow tree with its long willowly branches and host to one of my favourite migrants of summer, the Willow Warbler - this lovely tree has a lovely shape and movement to it - almost like Margot Fontyn dancing Swan Lake. If ever I feel depressed or down these trees lift my spirit and renew my soul.

I think Joyce Kilmer put it so well when he penned this following poem:


I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

with acknowledgement to Wikipedia

What more can one say!!