When I walk my sweet dog Sarah, or my son and his fiance’s sweet dog Sienna, I get to spend time really looking at trees.

 

Today I didn’t walk my dog.  Sarah is recovering from successful surgery to remove a tumor.  She comes home tomorrow. So I look at the tree photos, reminding me of the walks that have been part of our daily life since she became one of the family twelve years ago.

 

 

The dogs stop at what seems like each and every tree on our walks around the block.  They are finding out what other animals have visited the tree, while I am seeing the most amazing sights of each tree’s surface.

 

It feels like some wise truth is being displayed is the abstraction of patterns and colors.  It is as if I am reading an ancient language that wants to be known.

 

 

My favorites are the American Sycamores.  Their palette of soft grays, browns and greens brings comfort.

 

 

I remember the first time I really saw them. It was twenty years ago when my family and I drove onto our street to move into our new home in Missouri.  We moved from Minneapolis where these trees don’t grow.  The stately old trees welcomed us like sentries guarding our way to a new life.

 

 

The smooth bark with its pattern language starts near the roots with its deeply etched bark.

 

 

The old oaks that also line the streets stand regally with their etched bark, lichens and moss.

 

 

 

The old oaks feels like the spirit of a Druid lives within.  The name Druid means “knower of oak trees”.  Certainly there is old wisdom and truth that live within these trees.

 

And when I walk Sienna around the block now, I get to know the trees of her California neighborhood, like this redwood with the shell of a walnut that someone nailed to the tree.  Perhaps a perfect image for all who love trees and their truths.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Share
Tagged with:
 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *