Years ago, when I was writing the first draft of my book Weaving a Woman’s Life: Spiritual Lessons from the Loom, I went on retreat in the Poconos. Because it was after ski season and before the busy summer season, I had the place almost to myself.
In the afternoon, after hours of writing and thinking, I’d take a walk along the curving main drive to visit with some special friends. Tall, healthy, old, silver, smooth-barked beech trees.
These trees impressed and awed me with their size and age. Hugging them, my arms encompassed just over half of the circumference of the trees. I spent time stroking their smooth bark, listening to their silence and their whispers, imagining the depth and reach of their roots, wondering at all the events they had witnessed over the many years of their growth. They grounded and refreshed me after the mental work of writing.
Trees are an ancient and enduring symbol of this holiday season, whether it is a lovely Yule log or the traditional Christmas tree, covered in lights and ornaments. But sometimes we forget to really appreciate the tree itself. Not how pretty it looks with all the lights, but the life and energy of the tree.
Trees are such a gift.
Especially for writers. For centuries, trees have gifted us with ream upon ream of paper, box upon box of pencils, and board upon board of wood for desks and tables, the tools of our craft.
Trees are our Magic and our Muses.
This holiday season, whatever and wherever your favorite tree is, decorated with lights or a new snow, or unadorned…
Give it a little love.