Oak

You only have to wander anywhere a little green and you will see an oak tree, so many of them stretching across the land. They mark our hedgerows, old fieldways, ancient tracks and some still stand sentinel over sacred groves.

Duir…doorways into other worlds, faery kingdoms, misty pathways that lead backwards through time. I imagine the echo of old drums beating in the heartwood of the oaks, ghostly remnants of offerings swaying lightly in their branches. Guardians and gatherings of ancient gateways, long forgotten, their thresholds long grown over with moss. You can sometimes catch a glimpse of those other kingdoms…but then they are gone…

And yet I come to oak trees to feel solid, to feel their strength run into me. Their deep roots steeped in stories. Their leaves catching whispers from the wind, holding centuries of gentle wisdom. They somehow always bring me back to myself.

You can never feel alone under the leaves of an oak, it is a home to many, where the past and the future gather at its doorways placing you firmly in the now.

I place my hands on their bark for love, tuck their leaves into my pockets for strength and press their acorns to my heart as weather spells. They weave their mystery through me in a dance not unlike their leaves…such beautiful leaves, up, around and down…whole worlds tucked into tiny acorns. Doorways that are always there, moss-fringed and waiting, beneath the green canopy of an ancient friend.