Charnwood Grove organised and ran a number of creative writing sessions via zoom during the Covid lockdown period, each session chose a specific subject and using some key inspirational words, the participants crafted these magnificent creations.
Session 6- Trees
Evening Trees
All hail to the trees!
That roar and sing in the evening breeze,
Valiant galleons
billowing sails on rippling seas.
All hail to the trees!
Their branches a-stir,
Alive in the evening
Golden light and rustling leaves.
All hail to the trees!
Their branches a-quiver,
Oak and ash
They welcome the night.
The Oak Tree
come to see you most days and wonder at your majesty. I feel I have to look out for you as the commercial machine crowds your roots under the guise of “National Forest”. I have estimated your age at 300 years and sat by your roots contemplating all you have seen. The life within you is mirrored by life upon you and all at risk by the world around you.
That day I saw the tank like tracks, which swept away the wildflowers, the Blackthorn children and the Hazel saplings on route towards your home. My heart was filled with anxiety as I knew the conifers planted close behind you were nearing their monetary value and would soon be reduced to pulp.
I raced down the deathly track and saw your branches broken by the machine but knew you would have withstood much more in the past and within your stoic bubble, I sat once again to contemplate how you would have watched over open fields, bees, buzzing clover, hares boxing and roe deer grazing for 280 years before suffering the claustrophobic clutter planted all around your feet, stifling your grandeur, with room to cast a shadow.
I realise how lucky I am to live in open space and to have you to visit. I am grateful for your being.
Hawthorn
One season I watched you bring yourself into leaf,
Such sharp green buds, each day an offering of yourself.
Then flowers happened. Were you surprised, even though
Every year you find yourself the centre of a great miracle?
The turning of the blossom to berry was edged daily
With the softest kind of transformation. Who can tell
Where flowers fade and the swell of the seed begins?
Only one day, when I woke to look again, there they were.
Green, hard, tight, nuggets of promise. I notice you
Each berry growing, changing from green to red.
Not to stop but to start us all, celebrating you, your giving
The birds sing of your brilliance, you are lit, decorated.
And has anyone written a love poem, to your bark?
If not, they should. Perhaps I will. I just don’t care
That the thorns defend you. I will watch the browning leaves
Drop and fall, I will see you returned to your winter state.
I will wait quietly again for the first signs of budding
And give you my gratitude, for hawthorning yourself, always.
Willow
You have sustained me in this disquieting time. Kept me grounded, rooted. Supported me as I leaned against you.
Your flowing fronds caressed me as I walked beneath you, sending frissons of energy into my being as I bathed in your foliage and renewed myself.
You have sung to me in the breeze as the sunlight dappled down into your contemplative shade.
You inspire and teach me, lending your wisdom when I bring you my troubles. You call me to visit you, inspiring me to walk your way each day.
I am fortunate to have such a friend and so close. Old man Willow, I salute you.
Many thanks go to the membership of Charnwood Grove for allowing this content to be published.
All work remains the property of the original author. Charnwood Grove claims no rights.
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