Trees

Rustle, rustle, rustle… each rustle carries a whisper, a secret. And each little secret flits from leaf to leaf to leaf until it ends up in a whole new tree entirely. Trees can talk, you know. They listen, too. If you whisper a secret to a tree, it will not keep it. The leaves will mutter it to the leaves of the other trees, but the branches – the boughs carry it up, higher and higher, murmuring it to the skies. A tree is a messenger from the earth to the clouds. And it is ever so much more than is visible to the eye. Its boughs extend upwards, but the roots below travel deep and wide, worrying out knowledge from the underground.
But sometimes it is better to hear than to speak. A tree would hear everything we tell it, but sometimes, we should hear the tree: its wisdom and worries, its perfection and power. A landscape of green, a shade of green and green and green and green – green to infinity. Green is the color of creation. Of nature. And wandering through a grove of trees brings you much closer to nature. To that point of creation. Looking through the gaps between the boughs, you see green, and beyond that, more green. A tree is a symbol of life. It brings you closer to the rest of the living world. It is not only an icon of kindness, of love and of care, but also of strength, of perseverance, and of undaunting courage. It is a mother, a sister and a daughter. And looking at a tree will undoubtedly bring these lines to your mind:

Each tree promises,
To carry the words,
To spread the knowledge,
And to always,
Always be there for you.
And with each promise,
The bond grows stronger,
Between you and a tree.
A tree, the sister of life,
A tree, the daughter of creation,
A tree, the mother of wisdom,
And a tree,
A bridge to perfection
In imperfection.