There is a tree I go and sit in – an old ash just at the edge of a small area of woodland in the nature reserve near my home. It has become an important place to “just be” in a more embedded way in the landscape.
Remedy for Recovery
Sit astride the mossy bent limb
of an ash at the edge of the woods.
Breathe in and up
through your head and hair
to the canopy and beyond.
Breathe out and down
through trunk and roots
to the humus and beyond.
Stroke the moss between your thighs.
See how the limb stretches out
beyond you, curving down
onto the ground and up again,
sprouting upright leafy twigs.
Tune into sounds around:
plaintive cries of a young raptor,
squirrels squabbling over hazelnuts,
farewell wheetings of a chiffchaff,
robin song in a nearby tree.
Below, in sunny gaps of
leftover summer warmth,
see insects flickering:
bees, moths, speckled wood butterflies.
This ancient ash is ailing,
as is its neighbour.
The young ones around
are mostly dead.
Share with this gentle tree
the intention to live.
Near the base of the trunk can be seen a length of deeply embedded barbed wire, left over from a fence that years ago ran along the edge of these woods. With grace, it lives and continues to survive – a being of great beauty – carrying and accommodating what the world has thrown at it.
