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A solitary large tree stands in a grassy field, backlit by a bright sun, with low mist drifting across a valley behind it.
Trees When I am among the trees – Mary Oliver. When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locust, equally the beach, the oaks and the pines, they give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily. I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness and discernment, and never hurry through the world but walk slowly, and bow often. Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out “stay awhile” The light flows from their branches. And they call again, “its simple,” they say, “and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine.”
A reading of the piece (AI-generated, interpretive): A single tree anchors the threshold between earth and radiance, its silhouette holding steady as mist and sunlight blur the boundary between the visible world and something more dissolved and unconscious behind it.
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Commons

Occasional long-form writing. No schedule, no promotion.

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