| Talking Trees |

“Speak!”

“No.”  They laughed.

I swung my stick.  “Speak.  I’m listening!”

“No!”  They cried in unison.

“I’m here.  I want to know.  Your stories are bursting at the seams. . . let me in!”

“You aren’t ready.”  They repeated.

“You keep saying that!  Stop saying that.”

“You aren’t ready.”

“Why do you say that?  Talk.  I’m a son of Adam; speak to me!  Tell me your stories.  I have so much to learn!  Let me in.”

Silence.

I stopped mid-swing.

A whispering.

I relaxed, the stick hung limp in my hand.

The whispering grew louder and louder.  I took a step back and looked up at them.  It swelled to a roar.  The ground started shaking.  Then, it all fell quiet.  And, when I say quiet, it was an oppressive silence.  A silence that was so loud, I wanted to plug my ears.

But I remained where I stood, rooted to the spot.

Call it courage, fear, stubbornness or awe,I don’t know which, but I do know that I stood.

Then.

Nothing.

Then.

A blast.

Life hit me like a semi-truck.  Stories, scenes, and lines acted out.  The trees were talking, and I was completely prostrate on my back.  The teeming life that I had been sensing earlier swept over me, stealing my consciousness with it.  My world was getting rocked.

Laughter in the wind.

Growth in the rain.

Joy in the sun.

Pain in the lightening.

Anger in the axe.

Weeping in the fall.

The swelling ebbed and flowed and then something began to happen.  Subtly, the unified roar slipped into different voices.  Originally, it had just been one voice.  The original voice had told me its' story, its' trial, its' joy, but other voices had to speak.  And they did. 

It was overwhelming.

Seeds.

Roots.

Time passing.

Bark cracking.

Limbs stretching.

Rings widening.

Glorious life.

Age.

Wisdom.

Peace.

Fire.

Saplings young.

Life consumed.

Trees felled.

Hope lost.

It went on.  Lives were lived, history was, and the present was gifting.  Then it stopped.

And I lay there.  Broken.  A fool.

I asked.

And there was an answer.

There were answers.

And I wasn’t ready.