Planting trees is a form of prayer: that they will outlast us. That they will thrive through nor’easters and hurricanes. That they will become green apartment houses where birds and squirrels live side by side. That they will they give shade to all and oxygen.
Trees I planted decades ago are twice the height of our house. When a storm breaks a tree, I mourn it like a friend. They cool the house when scorchers blast us. They fill my eyes with a simple calm. I never get tired of looking at them. They dance in the wind and bend and toss their tresses. They scatter their leaves, returning what they took in to the soil beneath. Beech, maple, oak, fir, pine, dogwood, crabapple, pear, apple, wild and sour cherry… they all give back to us with their silent love.
Green fills my eyes.
My brain cools.
I nibble a leaf.