Trees are visible emblems of natures’ steadfast resilience. Weather has literally shaped their eager growth, tempered by light and shadow, while underlying thirst keeps them rooted to the source of their sustenance.
But we often overlook what their mere presence can teach us. If you ever find yourself in need of inspiration, simply look out the window, pause while on a walk, or gaze at the saving grace of a screensaver, and you can read resilience in their forms. Trees teach us of journeys taken without seeming to go anywhere. Their branches bare the arc of seasonal transformation. Their broad canopies remind us how time spreads and expands growth up and outward. Their whip and sway remind us of steadfastness in the face of a harsh firmament, and standing firm.
Writers, too, know something of taking journeys while rooted in one place—planting ideas in stories or poems and growing them on the confines of the page. Our work is shaped by the twists we’ve taken on our life’s journeys, and the turns we take to apply what we learned. Those twists and turns guide our ideas as they branch toward the light of illumination to find form, as we tap into our deepest underlying themes, bolstering stability.
And as we build our writing practice, we rely on support and guidance along the way. Trees have wisdom to share in this department, too. Trees may seem separate, independent, even when filling a forest, yet Peter Wohlleben, in The Hidden ln Life of Trees, writes that they communicate underground through a smart network of roots that entwine and help their neighbors find what they need to survive.
So when you see a tree standing graceful and gnarled, seemingly apart from the rest, remember that they’re not in it alone. Their sensitivity to underground travels & connections help them stand tall as they reach up and beyond themselves, and outward to each other—to grow stronger and more true.