Grove and Choir

I part the out thrusting branches
and come in beneath
the blessed and the blessing trees.
Though I am silent
there is singing around me.
Though I am dark
there is vision around me.
Though I am heavy
there is flight around me.
Wendell Berry, Woods

I've no idea how old Maple is, but she is very old indeed, with a circumference of several feet at the base, a wonderfully fissured gnarly trunk that goes up and up and up and a vast canopy of green leaves which form an generous umbrella for the capacious grove in which she stands.

Maple and her grove are my favourite space for quiet contemplation, and spending time here is a gift and a blessing - it is always good time and kairos time rather than plain old linear stress filled kronos (clock) time. I curl up under my tree's enfolding branches for a while, and all is well again. Balance and harmony are restored, and whatever is going on in life and whatever personal demons I am wrestling with (and there are usually a few skulking about), this place has a way of banishing them and putting everything back into perspective.

Yesterday morning, there was sunlight and a fine cool green breeze flowing, and my tree was home to a whole dancing chorus of woodland birds singing their hearts out, Ruby-crowned Kinglets, Scarlet Tanagers, Cardinals and Rose-breasted Grosbeaks. As I sat in the sunlight with my back against the tree and looking up, I found myself thinking of Wendell Berry's Timbered Choir and realized happily that I too have a timbered choir. In the presence of such magnificence, of what importance are my own paltry concerns?