Myriah and I were standing on the shoulder of Gumdrop Dome, looking across the lake to the other shore. She said that the trees rising in ascending rows from the water’s edge reminded her of a choir standing straight at attention. I made a note to include that image in a blog post if I could.
Later we were talking about age and getting old and what is youthfulness? and I was looking up a poem by Wendell Berry that I posted here once, when I found this fitting one:
What do the tall trees say
To the late havocs in the sky?
The air moves, and they sway.
When the breeze on the hill
Is still, then they stand still.
They have no fear. Their fate
Is faith. Birdsong
Is all they’ve wanted, all along.
-Wendell Berry, from A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems
The thought of the trees listening to the birds comforts me. I don’t see half the birds here that I see at home, though as Myriah noted, “I’ve heard more birds than I’ve seen.” Yesterday I got the idea of putting some berries on the deck and railing in hopes of attracting a Steller’s Jay. Nope. Not even a chipmunk has found one yet.
But a blue dragonfly just now graced my field of vision with his blue whirr.