I bought a new book a few weeks ago, by an author I appreciate very much, Belden Lane. I read his first book, The Solace of Fierce Landscapes, as if it had been written for me. When I saw this new book: Backpacking with the Saints, Wilderness hiking as Spiritual Practice, I couldn’t help but buy it, even though I don’t backpack or do the kind of wilderness hiking he does.

He has a lyrical style and his familiarity with landscape and ability to translate it into spiritual expression is enough to inspire and somehow help me to see my own journey as wilderness; my response and engagement as enriched adventure.

But the reason I started thinking about trees again and the poem I posted earlier this week, is because of a quote from that book:

We are like trees, growing (and touching) at our periphery. The living core of a tree lies within an inch or so of its outer bark, where phloem and xylem tubes carry life blood up and down the trunk. The rest of the interior is deadwood, a history of growth and struggle. (emphasis mine). We too, most readily encounter the other at our extremities. Like trees, our perimeters are where body and soul become most vulnerable…and most connected to the rest of the world.

This is his definition for soulfulness — the ability to hold open to others those outer edges. That is, to live life in such a way that regardless what happens we continue to grow. The growth and struggle become the stability and strength and extends the reach of the tree. It’s not easy to do.

So I pulled out my winter tree poem. And then, because my current season feels so much more like spring, I asked myself, how would this poem read from that perspective? I’m already looking forward to writing the summer one…

In This Season (spring)

There’s a flowering tree
reaching for Spring
branches budded and ready 
to burst on a fine day 
into blossoms 
welcoming
a long awaited guest.

This first blush
will warm the breeze,
brighten the eye,
quicken the breath as
branches spread and perfume
the embrace.

Could I also welcome – celebrate?

© 2019 – Laurel Archer