Old trees can easily conjure up memories of times past. Covered with lichens, mosses and fungi, they are witnesses to history, quiet observers of human events and animal activities. Their silent demeanor makes them privilege to secrets told beneath their branches. Perhaps it’s because we expect trees to know so much that they spark our imaginations.
A favorite book from my childhood was The Faraway Tree Adventure by Enid Blyton. (My copy was the french translation: DEUX ENFANTS DANS UN SAPIN). The story involved the magical encounters experienced by two children who follow an elf up a tree. My imagination was sparked by the idea of a tree so wonder-full that it could act as an enchanted gateway to other lands and fairy folk.
Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world.
~ John Muir
Two spruce trees I recently saw standing side by side in the forest reminded me of that magical tree I had read about years ago. They were wrapped up in mist and entwined in each other’s branches, still erect while others of their size were overturned by strong winds.
Their older lower branches were bare of needles but looked strong enough for climbing. As a child, I’d always been unable to reach the lower branches of the trees I believed held magical worlds in their canopies. At what age do we stop trying to climb up trees?
The magic that eluded us as children because we didn’t have arms long enough to reach the next branch, eludes us once again in adulthood as we become more and more attached to safe ground. The trees must find us odd indeed, but in their wisdom, say nothing.
What tiny creature do you suppose lives in that hole among the roots?
In the tradition of She Said, She Said, Sybil of Eastern Passage Passage has also written a post about these same trees. You can find her post here along with marvelous close-ups of the wonderful worlds she captured with her lens.