Hear Our Voices Rise

Swaying timbers sigh,

“Shield us as we shelter you.

Hear our voices rise.”

Tomorrow, January 26th in the Gregorian (civil) calendar Jewish people around the world will celebrate the 15th of Shevat in the Hebrew calendar, Tu b'Shevat, the New Year for the Trees. I am honored to say this will be cross posted at Vision and Verb on January 27th, a beautiful community of creative women artists and writers "of a certain age." Apparently I am now of that age as a guest blogger there. A different photo will be included in the V and V post even if you read this one, plus there is much to explore at that marvelous site, so I hope you will take some time to visit Vision and Verb too! Thank you with all my heart to Marcie Scudder and all the women at Vision and Verb for including my offerings with yours.

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All my life I’ve felt a sense of awe, wonder and oneness with Creation. An avid tree climber as a child, I’d untie my Keds, ball my socks inside, ascending barefoot, returning home later with blackened soles and a contented soul. I enjoyed trees in all seasons, but in summer, once school was out, I’d search for a tree in the woods with a bough high enough to feel secreted, but not so lofty it was scary. I’d seek a thick branch curved in such a way as to cradle my spine, offering a view of the rich earth below, and the blue heavens peeking through the arbor above; clouds drifted slowly past creating shadows then light in random patterns on the ground, my bare arms and legs. I felt grateful for the strength the tree I was perched in supporting me, all of the sister trees sheltering me from the chaos of a large loving family. With seven under our roof, I craved solitude. I was a child; I did not understand that noting the texture of bark with fingers and feet, how it varied from tree to tree, or inhaling the sweet scents of honeysuckle, blackberry, wild cherries and mulberries, or the changing hues of leaves from the beginning of summer to the end was in essence mindfulness practice. I only knew this brought me joy and comfort. I felt closer to God’s presence, listening to the pulse of the forest, the sounds one only hears attuned to twigs crackling beneath the scampering steps of small animals enjoying the feast the woods provide. Trees were my companions as I daydreamed peacefully between the ages of eight and twelve. They were very good listeners and perhaps taught me to be one too. Not surprisingly, one of my favorite books was and still is “The Lorax”... my name is Laura so it seemed a logical leap to believe it was up to me to speak for the trees. I was little, I didn’t know how.

The place where I grew up in Pennsylvania is no longer sylvan as it was years ago.  Each time I visit my family more houses and shopping centers have sprouted where trees had grown, the rich soil replaced by roads, the sweet scents of honeysuckle, blackberry, wild cherries and mulberries usurped by car fumes and pungent deep fried, char grilled fast food and coffee chains.

Now I reside in a wooded area of New Hampshire much like the remembered home of my youth, a different landscape, but “treed” nonetheless. I no longer climb them, although occasionally I’ll recline on one felled by a storm in the forest looking up the way I did as a child awed. As an adult I spend hours observing time wizened bark, graceful forms. Recording the splendor that God planted for us to tend, to enjoy, to breathe with, to live harmoniously amid, to protect. Perhaps on some level my photos “speak for the trees,” yet I know this is not enough to proclaim myself a Lorax.

Anyone who’s spent time in the woods knows that while trees cannot utter words of protest against the whine of chainsaws, the roar of bulldozers or the silent strangle of invasive species, (including encroaching human housing developments) they are not mute. They sing, rustle, whistle, weep; I find solidarity sheltered among my longtime friends now, just as when I was little. Even beneath the bower of a single tree one can cultivate mindfulness, l’shmoah, all of our senses alert, listening:

Swaying timbers sigh,

“Shield us as we shelter you.

Hear our voices rise.”

Click here to listen to instructions for a Tu b'Shevat meditation practice. (Also available through a link on the Minucha b'Lev page of this blog)

How can you be a Lorax? Support stewardship of our precious planet. A good place to start might be a $10 donation (one time or recurring) to The Eden Projects supporting reforestation all around the world and empowering fellow human beings, lifting them up out of poverty with meaningful work that improves life for all of us. Watch this video to learn more:

 

Won't you raise your voice with the trees and me, compassionately healing our world, a sacred task we can accomplish together?

Linking to:

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ein stuk himmel

guest heart thursday 

haiku my heart

poetry pantry

macro monday
Tones on Tuesdays

the weekend in black and white

Vision and Verb

I Heart Macro

Shadow Shot Sunday II