The Ash Tree By the Trail

I often think that my life can be measured simply by the number of great trees in it, along with cups of tea, stacks of books, tattered umbrellas, scraps of paper, odd gloves, hiking boots and walking sticks.

The towering ash tree along the trail in Lanark is welcoming and stately, and she is an old friend and a dear companion, someone to whom I bow respectfully on my weekend forest walks. She lives near my favourite woodland trail in a small round grove which is filled with her descendents, and her exquisitely entangled boughs leap and dance as the wind flows through them. Now in the blustery month of March, she resembles a great ship under sail, masted high and straight and moving along in a veritable symphony of sighs and creaks. Every chilly gust of wind liberates clouds of fine powdery snow from her swaying branches and sets it flying free and fast among the root children who dwell in the grove.