trees

Within its gates I heard the soundOf winds in cypress caverns caughtOf huddling tress that moaned, and soughtTo whisper what their roots had found.(__ Dream of Fear_)

Haunted trees covered behind the curtains of their own leaves stare at the dark from the fringe of streets.

All forests are one... They are all echoes of the first forest that gave birth to Mystery when the world began.

Only the trees, only the trees. Like a key they see beyond the mystery, waiting patiently ever holding me while I hold the sky.

Nothing but trees.

I wrapped my arms around him like I was saving an oak tree.

I never see that prettiest thing-A cherry bough gone white with Spring-But what I think, "How gay 'twould beTo hang me from a flowering tree.

Time is different for a tree than for a man. Sun and soil and water, these are the things a weirwood understands, not days and years and centuries. For men, time is a river. We are trapped in its flow, hurtling from past to present, always in the same direction. The lives of trees are different. They root and grow and die in one place, and that river does not move them. The oak is the acorn, the acorn is the oak.

When you put a log on the fire, the light and heat you see is, in a literal sense, the decades of sunshine that tree basked in over its lifetime.

Sometimes in the evening on Summer days,Even when there__ not a breeze at all, it seemsLike there__ a light breeze blowing for a minuteBut the trees are unmovingIn every leaf of their leavesAnd our feelings have had an illusion,An illusion of what would please them...

Happiness lives in every corner of your home and if you are homeless, it lives under the leaves of trees, hiding beneath the sky's cloudiness. All you need to do is to find it with patience.

The way surviving hard winters makes a tree grows stronger, the growth rings inside it tighter

There were two forests for every one you entered. There was the one you walked in, the physical echo, and then there was the one that was connected to all the other forests, with no consideration of distance, or time. The forest primeval, remembered through the collective memory of every tree in the same way that people remembered myth- through the collective subconscious that Jung mapped, the shared mythic resonance that lay buried in every human mind. Legend and myth, all tangled in an alphabet of trees remembered, not always with understanding, but with wonder. With awe.

Roots cannot grow into trees if there are no supernatural elements in the soil. Man cannot grow wealthy and famous if he doesn't contribute to either, the good or evil.

It was different, though, knowing something in your thoughts and then hearing it confirmed, made real, planted in the world like a tree

In the wind that ruffles through the treesI can find thoughts of you whispering to me

If you can't see the sun then too many things stand in your way. Sometimes, you have to climb to the top of all your fears to see any horizon, such is life. God needs to you rise higher before you will ever "see" something different.

We're merely one tree with various types, shapes and sizes of leaves that all wave differently in the breeze