Trees Don’t Drive Cars

If I were a tree, or like a tree, maybe I’d see more, maybe I’d know more. Maybe the tree and I are the same thing.

If I were a tree, or like a tree, maybe I’d see more, maybe I’d know more. Maybe the tree and I are the same thing.

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I’m sitting in my van having a coffee and I’m staring at the big old Horse Chestnut tree across the road. It must be 100 years old or more. It just stands there, leaves flapping about in the breeze.

It’s mid-July and the tips are beginning to turn brown. A bit early I think to myself.

Cars drive by, their drivers narrowly focused on the job at hand, hardly noticing the Horse Chestnut tree.

The tree seems patient to me. You’d have to be really, if you were a tree, given that you grow so slowly and can’t go anywhere.

It seems like it knows things that I don’t, that I can ever know. It seems like it smiles at my naivety, at my childish questions like an old grandfather to his grandson.

The Hello Tree
Hello tree, it’s me
I’m still today but I don’t often be
Here in my place quietly
contemplating myself unable to see…
medium.com

Or is that simply something I’ve made up in my mind?

No, I don’t think so.

It seems to be coming from the tree. Maybe I evoke that feeling from the tree. If that is so, then the tree is as much me as my arm. So then I must know things unknown to me.

I and the tree must be one and the same thing, apparently separate in body but not in mind.

Maybe humans can feel this in one another too.

But trees don’t drive cars.

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