Among the Trees

Upside down, in a yoga position that compromised both my shoulders and my dignity, I gazed out the window. Trees still bare from the long, cold winter arced gracefully towards the heavens. Some branches curved, some branches were straight, some had knobby connections between old and new branches, some were broken at odd angles. I followed each line, light and shadow, as far as it reached to arrive at the same place – the ice blue sky. I forgot my own physical limitations for a few treasured seconds.

Is this what it’s like to be free?


When I Am Among the Trees
By Mary Oliver

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness,
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, "Stay awhile."
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, "It's simple," they say,
"and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine."