Why I Fucking Love Trees

I love trees so fucking much. I’ve nicknamed a tree at St. Mary’s Park. His name is Bruce. I may name it Caitlyn. I think trees have personalities. They have a story. Every tree has a story. Trees are the key to everything. They give us so much, and ask for so very little in return. Like, trees feed mad people, and give life to the earth…literally. No tress? Bye, bye all matters of life.

Trees are the beginning and end. Everything we will ever need to know about life can be found in the tree. They start as young seeds from pine cones hitting the soil. They grow into young saplings and sprout out to the world. Trees do daily work. Every day, they feed on the rays of the sun and the water from the clouds, and participate in the nurturing of nature by feeding us air. I touch Bruce with both of my palms, and rub my heart with my right hand afterwards. I try to get a sense of where he’s been, what he’s gone through and seen. What I love about trees is how unassuming they are. They stand in the midst of storms and fires and fucked up ass human shit, and yet, they still provide for us, without hesitation or question.

I want to be like Bruce. I want to stand tall and firm in my work. The oak doesn’t worry about becoming an oak (or does it…I’ma ask Bruce). The oak simply grows in the ways it is supposed to, without worry or fear of the end result. Because, the end result is always the same. It will fall, and live again in the form of another seedling. The oak ain’t worried about the branch that fell, the leave that was eaten, the rain that didn’t come….it goes on, unmoved, stoic and firm in it’s resolve to remain as it is.

A tree is always a tree. It doesn’t change it’s idea of what it is based on time, temperature, circumstance…nah. This is why I fuck with trees so hard. Because Bruce is gonna Bruce his way through life regardless. And the work that Bruce is doing now will still reverberate long after he’s fallen and moved on. We sometimes don’t get to see the work that we’ve done in our lifetimes take root and shape. But, we can rest assured that it has meaning; it has value. I saw a woman once walk down the block and pick up the trash she saw on the sidewalk and dump it in the trash can. So, now I do the same. She may never know how her simple act changed the way I see the world, but it did and has. Shout-out to Bruce for helping me recognize that.

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