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THE SONG OF THE TREES by Vrinda Aguilera

It’s a beautiful fall day and the weather is crisp and bright…

The sun is shining golden, warming the edges of everything. I have a day off and decide to take myself out on a date to lunch and then to the park to write.

Upon arriving at the park I head up an unfamiliar path and find, much to my delight, a newly created nature area. From the looks of things it appears to be in the process of still being completed but the groundwork is in place:  glinting white pebble pathways, scattered park benches of pale, cedar wood, the planks still giving off a pungent, woodsy smell.

 A  rock garden anchors one side with tall, multi leveled, cut cylinder stones arranged artfully, haphazardly, imbuing the area with the simplicity and serenity of a Zen garden. At another end is a brick outlined, red pebble bed labyrinth- perfect for the contemplative walker. I make a note to meander the spirals of its maze in my bare feet.

The symmetry and mandala like geometry of the circular clearing  appeals to me and sets about to define the space as one which invites contemplating, meditating or quiet strolling.  'Come here, sit here, walk here,' it seems to say.

Newly planted, young trees are planted at judiciously spaced intervals. They rest in carefully created beds, tucked up with blankets of pine needles, tended by the hands of some nurturing gardener souls, sharing their care and service with the sentient beings that plant life is.

The place is new but this is ok, as we were all once new many times over. There is a certain mystery and potential that newness invites. It holds a space pregnant with possibilities, it's toes edging against the invisible starting line of the unknown future.
Photography of Live Oaks by Adam Jones

All of this is encircled by a mature woods. Lacy edged shadows decorate the tree line where the sun filters through the perimeter. There, standing watch at the edge of the forest are the tree elders, draped with their robes of Spanish moss, majestically sheltering and watching the newness with their ancient, upraised arm branches. Silent witnesses to all that is around them. 

How do they converse with one another, these trees, winks from their knotted trunks? Dry cracks and rustlings when the wind rushes through their foliage? Well, how about their roots- perhaps their root systems from which they derive nourishment from Florida's rich, albeit sandy, soil also serves as a channel for communications with one another. I can imagine vibrations through the loamy earth, being sent forth at subtle, varying rates to be a language of sorts. Or do they simply embrace the limitations and solitude inherent in their plant bodies- as veritable living lessons in patience, tolerance, forbearance, acceptance and humility?

When was the last time you saw a tree abusing another or refusing to bend with the natural force of a strong wind. Who is the person who has witnessed a tree withholding his God given gifts of shelter and shade to one who asked it of him, regardless of their life form- be it the small ant or proud man? That's right, never! Trees do not discriminate.

Oh, grandfathers, grandmothers, mothers and fathers- I see you! I honor and respect your service and bearing.

The longer I sit here the more I seem to become aware of the texture and depth of the natural atmosphere. There is an etheric exchange occurring if I am quiet enough, still enough, I can hear it. The young trees seem to speak in a different language- their leaves haven't yet dried, their tender trunks are supple and bendy and thus their voices are different. Quieter, softer. As an approaching wind blows I hear it being heralded with the other voices of trees further out in the forest, not unlike that of an incoming ocean wave sweeping through the foliage, crowns of trees bustle and rustle with news and announcements. Some are singing, mocking the twitter of feathered birds, flitting about somewhere out of sight.

A poem flows effortlessly as I hear the voices of the trees and the message they deliver to me.

The Song of the Trees

I hear the song of the trees
I hear the sound of the trees
Offering counsel to me
Whispering advice
Sharing their lessons of patience,
Humility and tolerance

'Have courage
Seek faith
Align yourself with grace
Your roots in the earth
Stay grounded
With your arms raised towards the skies
Embrace heaven's gifts and eternity

Those that bend the most do not break
Yielding is not a sign of weakness
It's an art of faith'

I hear the songs of the trees
They whisper their secrets to me

'When great torrential rainstorms
Open up above and the force of a thousand
Gale windstorms blow from all sides
Dance in the downpour
Seize the moment and let go
Move to the melody of the pitter, patter
Pulsate to the staccato of the thunder
Our leaves release their most beautiful
Scents when caught in the storm

When you are drenched, drink it in!
Be satiated and quench your thirst

When the sun sets, sleep
Dawn rising sees us stretching our branch arms
Scratching our itches and greeting the day
We bathe in the morning dew and are serenaded by visiting birds

We take our refreshments effortlessly
From the glowing Sun
The moisture all around
The nourishing brown soil of the earth

Life is simple
Celebrate with us!'
(What I didn't know: as I leave this beautiful area I notice a posted plaque that I previously didn't see on my way in. The sign dedicates the garden to Suicide Survivors and their families. I feel tears rise up in my eyes as I am suddenly, deeply saddened by all of the nameless, faceless lost and suffering souls who inspired the creation of this sacred nature space. On the tail of this is a feeling of appreciation and gratitude- those in need will indeed be comforted by nature's embrace in this outdoor setting of tranquility.)
Photography by Katarina Silva

Vrinda Aguilera is a Montessori trained primary school teacher, an intuitive energy healer, a closet poet, and practitioner of bhakti-yoga. She is passionate about supporting women on their spiritual journey and is a professionally trained life-coach. She lives in rural Florida with her husband and three children where she blossoms in the experience of her own mothering. You may connect with her by e-mailing her at:

~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~ 


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