us, they float by utterly unaware of our concerns.

These vast, quiet things are always to hand. There is a constant drama above our heads:

collisions, fractures, swirls, separations…

Human life is no less active, but it can be a moment of relief from our particular involvements

to look up and be returned to a broader perspective, from where the agitations of the here and

now seem less significant.

It will all pass, even the current nastiness and anxiety, like the clouds that seemed so

fixed and heavy but an hour ago – and yet have now moved on, leaving behind only two

or three of their numbers, apologetic and timid before the victorious sun, like the

cowed remnants of a scattered army.

They are an image of patience, and resolution. Their gnarled, worn barks speak of the hundreds

of seasons they have endured. They have bent and lost branches in winter winds, they have

been gnawed at by worms and beetles across the airless days of summer, they have been

knocked and hacked at by farmers and children.

But they endure – as we might better learn to do through their examples.

All those leaves, resplendent in the summer sun, will soon be gone.

Human life is as terminal, but it is the example of trees that best and most gracefully introduce

us to the inevitable facts of the life cycle.

Nothing will be forever, say the trees. Enjoy these precious days, whisper their leaves.

They are always communicating: whispering, exclaiming, arguing (with a rock or twig),

confiding (in a quiet vortex), dozing (in midsummer) or shouting in rage (after a heavy

shower). Like fires, they provide an ideal object of

contemplation. Their constant activity enlivens the imagination. They don’t stare blankly

back at us, like pieces of paper on a desk. They distract our minds just enough that the

good ideas, the ones that we hate to ask ourselves directly, can feel relieved of pressure and

slip out - and we can make progress with ourselves.

We need nature not just for physical health, but - as importantly - for sanity. No week

should be counted complete if it does not include one or two minutes given over to the

clouds, the trees and the streams: emissaries of perspective, patience and introspection.