“The Free Thinker” by Gisele Bedard

Look at the snout of any stump, the gnarled horns of any olive tree, the twisted beckoning fingers of the lemon tree, the rod-straight posture of the pine, the coquettish garland of flowers in the cherry blossom tree’s hair, and you tell me if a tree has got no personality.  Listen to the leaves whispering under the cover of the wind’s sigh, heed the groaning of the branches whining about the dead weight of snow and ice, press your eat to the earth and hear the sounds ofroots sprawling and yearning and growing—and you tell me of a tree that has no soul.  Mark the way they alter with the seasons, who their moods and coloring shift with the weather, how they darken in the rain and flourish under the sun like you and I. Could you blame ourancestors for revering—even worshipping—living, breathing entities like this, peaceful as a summer sky, powerful as a immobile crag of rock, some as old as the nearly-forgotten heroes of your history books?

 
“Angreek87″