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It always was The Trees who called to me.
I grew up in Northeast Pennsylvania. Our trees exhibited the most beautiful displays of color before dropping literally tons of leaves to the bless The Earth — give back — and then quietly settle into their Long Winter’s Nap.
In return — The Earth would mulch their gift into rich soil, feed worms, and other insects which in turn fed birds, bats, opossums, and all manner of Small Creatures. The Small Ones fulfilled their link in the chain by not only feeding upper-level predators but by also helping bees spread pollen and seeds so local flora bloomed in not so local places.
But The Trees. It all seemed to me to start with The Trees.
They stood tall and steady. Some of them ages old. Witnesses to only Goddess knows how many generations of Humans, birds, and Small Ones taking shelter beneath their branches — in their forests.
The Trees called my name — sometimes I swear I heard them say it right out loud. They beckoned me to climb between their branches. They held me securely when I wept and mourned my mother. They showed me views I couldn’t imagine from the ground. They challenged me to climb and risk and reach. They gave me shelter to grow my courage and face All. The. Things.
