trees and prayer



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.

The older I get the more I appreciate trees.  I have always appreciated trees, after all I’m from Kansas. Eastern Kansas where I grew up is on the edge, prairie to the west and deciduous forest to the east. When it is 105 degrees in August, a tree is very welcome.

Increasingly I find myself looking at trees. As I sit in my backyard I see at least 8 different kinds of trees. I don’t know the names of all of these trees. That’s just laziness on my part. I’m sure I have a field guide to trees somewhere. For goodness sake I can google “trees” on my phone and find out. But I don’t need to know the names to appreciate the trees.

On the one hand, they all have green leaves and have bark.

But each bark is different, each tree’s leaves have their own shape and shade of green.smokey_leaf Each tree has its own branching pattern.

Every spring they each bud in a different way, at different times.

Every fall they turn a different color and drop their leaves differently.

The wind moves the leaves and branches of each tree differently.

The snow falls on each tree differently.

One can spend a long times sitting and looking at trees and not have wasted a single moment. It is a kind of prayer, looking at trees.


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