Tree Talk

This day is indeed day one—a day, and one for the books. I’ll begin with current conditions:


Portland, OR 97201

Sunday 5:00 PM
Sunny

Sunny

78
°F | °C
Precipitation: 0%
Humidity: 35%
Wind: 10 mph

There is the fading sound of a fire truck (gone/false alarm), and there goes the zip of a skater down Tenth Avenue at SW Montgomery where I sit outside with a stack of actual paper.

I just finished—and I do hate to admit this—working on financial matters and so forth, but only with half a mind to all of that. I have half a mind (the better half) to go rent a car and head west. Stop for a bit and wait. Keep going and never stop . . .

But, I need all of my mind in these current conditions, so like I said: finances. And it is actually easy to work out money and so forth. I am already done with that part and it is quite satisfactorily concluded for now, and my doctor visit is scheduled and I have a plane ticket for an anticipated visit to Mom’s, with reasonable departure and return times because it is ridiculous to get a red-eye to save thirty dollars, when a taxi ride is $70 round trip. My reasonable time window enables me to spend $5.00 on a train ticket and only costs me thirty dollars more for a net gain of $35.00 for this one trip. It occurs to my other side that if I traveled enough, I would grow wealthy, gaining $35 each trip.

Oh well, today the conditions are great for seeing beauty all around. And I have. Just gorgeous, I swear. There are flowers, birds and bees, intricate leaves, lavender to pick, and small insects at work on a Sunday (because they observed the Sabbath properly yesterday). And the air seems much more clear than it has, and I want to keep this smile that I have.

It is like a smirk really, because my lips are sorta shifted to the left, and whatever actual smile is there is coming from deep deep within and out my eyes. Out my eyes, at least when they are open, because I keep closing them for brief periods of current time, and the smile gets larger every time I do. It still veers left, however, and thinking about that makes me shake my head slightly in wonder and a slight sound comes from the back of my throat and then my smirk/smile continues and it is out of my control, I am telling you. I am being made to do this smiling shaking sound thing and now I am laughing.

I am laughing with my eyes closed while the sun washes over my face and the breeze comes and goes as I type and there goes another skater and I feel very good right now. Good, I feel it. Very.
Oh, the trees! This is about them, I remember. Here it is, from The Hidden Life of Trees (Wohllben), excerpts from pages 5,8, and 10 [content in brackets mine, for clarification]:
“If every tree were looking out only for itself, then quite a few of them would never reach old age [so they rely on one another by connecting and communicating with colleagues] . . . It is rather the degree of connection—or maybe even affection—that decides how helpful a tree’s colleagues will be . . . A pair of true friends is careful right from the outset not to grow overly thick branches [in conflict with the other’s growing space, because] . . .the trees don’t want to take anything away from each other . . . [and] news bulletins [and other communications] are sent via the roots . . . [The] tree roots extend a long way, more than twice the spread of the crown . . . and there are fungi present that act as intermediaries to guarantee quick dissemination of news . . . One teaspoon of forest soil contains many miles of these “hyphae” [fungi] . . . Such partners are often so tightly connected at the roots that sometimes they even die together.”

Portland, OR 97201

Sunday 6:00 PM
Mostly Sunny

Mostly Sunny

78
°F | °C
Precipitation: 0%
Humidity: 34%
Wind: 9 mph

The sun is setting and the wind is slightly calmer, taking us into the evening as I think more, and smile more, and there go my eyes (yea I can type this way) closing again.

And all the while the trees are talking, connected at root level. They are preparing for the dark, and the dawn of a new day . . .

Photograph “Evergreen. Everclose.” © 2018 Timothy Waugh

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