Effortless
The most powerful thing about trees is that they make it look so easy; looking at them reminds me to avoid being a spiritual” try hard” or a spiritual “indifferent” because both extremes involve self-absorption.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Continuing Left and the Confirmation of Trees
Turning left seems at times to be my only connection to God lately.
Driving up this path as often as I do, I ask each time what are the trees saying today? They have been in a continuous state of transition since I decided to notice them. The last of the pink blooms have been overcome by crimson leaves. In contrast, their neighbors are easy and peaceful, flowing with green leaves. Sometimes I wonder why these trees were chosen to line this street. I do know these particular species tend to flourish easily in deserts providing beauty with the least amount of effort. That could be one reason.
In March, one of the trees was damaged by a reckless driver on a rainy afternoon and the loss of bark may cause it to die. Every time I turn the roundabout I check to see if it is showing signs of continuing or ending. If it dies, the gardeners will replace it. Though it took me a while, I began to notice there have been many replacements along the tree path. I had only ever paid attention to the mature and larger trees. Then one morning, I began seeing the sapling replacements and I wondered what circumstances brought them. It took a lot of left turns to learn how prejudiced my attention can be.
Presently, there is new activity in the corridor of trees. For weeks now, the gardeners have been pruning the trees. They’ve worked in small numbers consistently. To accomplish their task, they taper the paths of travel to properly provide the room for the large limbs to safely fall. I like this narrower path because it slows me just enough to see the gardeners and their workmanship. It’s interesting to me that I never witness the action of the cutting itself. I only pass along after the fact observing the laborers at rest as they sit beside the large piles of branches in their shade hats talking happily to one another. I respect their labor because in it they are connected to the real things. I should pay attention to this more.
The newly thinned trees have created a fresh picture and feel along the path and I take this as a possible new lesson to think about.
On one hand, I would be blind to not notice the scars that remain after substantial numbers of members have been removed. I learned once that the ways one can improperly prune are by, first, cutting the wrong branches and second, not handling the space left by the truncation. If the scar is not treated carefully, rot will develop under the wound and either weaken or destroy the tree.
On the other hand, thinning also has allowed for greater visibility down the road; more light passes between the boughs. Each plant now appears as an individual and I notice the uniqueness and the similarities in the markings on the bark and branching patterns. Perhaps the replacement saplings will now have more light to interact with and increase themselves. My mind returns to the trees before the workers came. The canopies were heavily entwined, wide and without boundary. I, and probably other creatures, enjoyed the effect, but I am not a caretaker of trees and there may be limits to this over-connection.
The bigger picture now reveals the intent of the workers to make the central core of branches heighten and not widen. I know trees naturally do both of those things on their own, but it is important in certain seasons to emphasize one over the other. Eventually, the branches will naturally draw closer, intermingle and grow heavy again, but now the focus is up. Those central ones will go up easily without the responsibilities of the fullness and wideness of previous seasons. Birds build nests in the higher central places too. As for the separated branches, I believe they will, in another form, be put to use to nourish the soil in some way or another.
Not mentioned before are the trees in the community that still stand in stages of leafless dormancy, but it will take more left turns to understand them.
Turning left seems at times to be my only connection to God lately.
Driving up this path as often as I do, I ask each time what are the trees saying today? They have been in a continuous state of transition since I decided to notice them. The last of the pink blooms have been overcome by crimson leaves. In contrast, their neighbors are easy and peaceful, flowing with green leaves. Sometimes I wonder why these trees were chosen to line this street. I do know these particular species tend to flourish easily in deserts providing beauty with the least amount of effort. That could be one reason.
In March, one of the trees was damaged by a reckless driver on a rainy afternoon and the loss of bark may cause it to die. Every time I turn the roundabout I check to see if it is showing signs of continuing or ending. If it dies, the gardeners will replace it. Though it took me a while, I began to notice there have been many replacements along the tree path. I had only ever paid attention to the mature and larger trees. Then one morning, I began seeing the sapling replacements and I wondered what circumstances brought them. It took a lot of left turns to learn how prejudiced my attention can be.
Presently, there is new activity in the corridor of trees. For weeks now, the gardeners have been pruning the trees. They’ve worked in small numbers consistently. To accomplish their task, they taper the paths of travel to properly provide the room for the large limbs to safely fall. I like this narrower path because it slows me just enough to see the gardeners and their workmanship. It’s interesting to me that I never witness the action of the cutting itself. I only pass along after the fact observing the laborers at rest as they sit beside the large piles of branches in their shade hats talking happily to one another. I respect their labor because in it they are connected to the real things. I should pay attention to this more.
The newly thinned trees have created a fresh picture and feel along the path and I take this as a possible new lesson to think about.
On one hand, I would be blind to not notice the scars that remain after substantial numbers of members have been removed. I learned once that the ways one can improperly prune are by, first, cutting the wrong branches and second, not handling the space left by the truncation. If the scar is not treated carefully, rot will develop under the wound and either weaken or destroy the tree.
On the other hand, thinning also has allowed for greater visibility down the road; more light passes between the boughs. Each plant now appears as an individual and I notice the uniqueness and the similarities in the markings on the bark and branching patterns. Perhaps the replacement saplings will now have more light to interact with and increase themselves. My mind returns to the trees before the workers came. The canopies were heavily entwined, wide and without boundary. I, and probably other creatures, enjoyed the effect, but I am not a caretaker of trees and there may be limits to this over-connection.
The bigger picture now reveals the intent of the workers to make the central core of branches heighten and not widen. I know trees naturally do both of those things on their own, but it is important in certain seasons to emphasize one over the other. Eventually, the branches will naturally draw closer, intermingle and grow heavy again, but now the focus is up. Those central ones will go up easily without the responsibilities of the fullness and wideness of previous seasons. Birds build nests in the higher central places too. As for the separated branches, I believe they will, in another form, be put to use to nourish the soil in some way or another.
Not mentioned before are the trees in the community that still stand in stages of leafless dormancy, but it will take more left turns to understand them.
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