Talking To Trees.

I walked home tired
the kind of tired that sinks
into your bones
and makes the sky feel heavier
than it should

There was a tree along my path
steady and tall
a quiet witness
to many afternoons like this one
and I thought
maybe I’ll lean on you
just for a moment
just to rest.

But something in me paused,
a stillness that spoke
not loud
not stern
just clear
I don’t like people leaning on me

I stopped
not offended
only curious
And then I felt it say,
You can stand under my shade
Rest here for a bit

So I did
I stood still
beneath branches wide like open arms
and though I didn’t touch
I felt held
supported in a way that asked nothing in return.
And I thought
maybe trees speak more often
than we hear,
maybe they carry memory
and mood
and knowing
of how to give without breaking

Scripture says
the trees of the field will clap their hands
and the forest will sing for joy.
I’ve read it before
but now I wonder
if it’s not just poetic
if it’s truth
quiet and rooted
too patient for our noise.

I’ve always loved trees
not just for their shade
but for their presence
steady
wise
slow to move
quick to shelter
never in a rush
but always in time.

Maybe creation feels
Maybe it remembers Eden
Maybe it waits
not passively
but with hope.

The tree didn’t carry me
but it didn’t turn me away
It offered what it could
and it was enough.

Now when I pass
I say thank you
Not out loud
but from the part of me that listens
to things that don’t speak
the way we do.

Maybe talking to trees
is not so strange
Maybe listening to them
is long overdue.