nostalgia
“I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to live than other things do.”
— Willa Sibert Cather
The trees whisper in forgotten tongues and a bird cocks its head to listen. What do these majestic creatures, so rooted in the earth have to say? What wisdom could they impart to such transient and mobile beings that flit by, there one moment and gone the next? Perhaps the birds understand some of their secrets. They understand the connection with the earth despite their lives spent so far above. They always return home each year. Severing connections with place is something reserved to man. Connections slow you down, roots are put forth. It is harder to keep moving if so much is destroyed when deep roots are torn up. It is safer to remain out of the earth, but how can a seed grow unless it is planted? The trees understand this. Their majesty comes forth from sacrifice. To be uprooted is certain death but they do not try to uproot themselves. They know the cost. Is it so different for man? Does he not inadvertently put down roots everywhere he goes, leaving a part of himself behind when he goes?
