Sometimes I wonder if the trees ever get tired.
To draw on what I consider to be one of the most beautiful sentences ever penned, they are privy to the inexhaustible variety of life.
But whether they are, in fact, exhausted by it, as we sometimes may be, is open to pondering.
It only occurred to me this week, as I sat at my desk in the midst of another long and lovely day (if not in terms of weather at least in terms of work) and my mind has perpetually strayed to the thought ever since.
Despite ostensibly having more time than ever, I’m starting to wonder how I ever managed to lead a life devoid of lockdown. I feel as busy, if not busier than I’ve ever been.
Considering how often we hear of ‘millennial burnout’ or even just ‘burnout’ regardless of the year you were born, I can’t help but wonder if we should tap into a little of our woodlands’ wisdom.
So many of us are accustomed to pushing ourselves to our limits, always doing that little bit more whether it’s because we care, or because we’re ambitious, or because we’re a tricksome combination of both.
Meanwhile, our trees possess impossible might and majesty by simply pacing themselves.
They grow imperceptibly, never attempting to surpass expectation, nor circumvent their circadian rhythms.
They trust in what will be.
And they perceive much more than we could ever hope to see.
Those mottled leaves, those flakes of bark, those delicate sprigs, have, if only briefly, lived a billion lives.
They hear us say “I love you” and they see us as we say “goodbye”.
They are touched by our peals of laughter and they stand by us when we cry.
I suppose you could say this is true of any constant in nature.
But there’s something familiar to be found in those knotted trunks and twisted stems. They’re a source of strength unlike any other; a font of exquisite calm, the kind that only seemingly comes once you’ve seen many a moon wax and wane.
Perhaps experiencing all that human life holds is a privilege.
Then again, perhaps they’re preoccupied with more prodigious things.
Or maybe they simply sway in the breeze, enjoying each passing minute of every passing day.
Modernish 