Often, I find comfort in seeking solace from this tree. It grabbed my i the other day; attempting to wake me up and see who’s around.

“Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.”

Even now, the winds, moving at various velocities; giving “somethingness” to the spaces in the in-between. The trees, the mountains and arroyos. Between cat and dog. Person and person. Tire and concrete. Multi-layers of skin and bone and cell and lymphatics and blood.

And there’s Suzanne Simard, in “Finding the Mother Tree”, who let’s us in on what is no longer strange, or peculiar, or a secret, that “The network in the soil is a neural network and the chemicals that move through it are the same as our neural transmitters.”

How could I not feel held and loved and nourished?

Wandering: Notes and Sketches, Herman Hesse
Finding the Mother Tree, Suzanne Simard

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