Meditations with an Old Cherry
I talked with an old cherry today. It’s slowly rotting to pieces in a park near a meadow. It taught me its bark, with its complex layered crags. It taught me the blessings of an island of shade on a bright day. There was wind, cool and fitful gusts. Cherry leaves sound like paper rain drops when they rattle together in the wind.
I asked it what else it had to teach me. I knew it was a dying tree and I wanted to know how it felt about death. With climate change on my mind, this is what it told me:
“Accept the gift and the sacrifice that the dying age is giving you. Remember it. You will honor it by learning its lessons. Make use of what it leaves behind.
A tree sometimes grows in the wrong place or in the wrong way and only later learns of the mistake but grows its best where it is, and where it grows and dies, it gives back. Every tree when and as it dies begins giving back to the community it died in. There is no loss but some of the whole gains. It will be the same for you.”
All of this made me think about the ashes, all standing dead in the forests, and how my future children will likely only know the American ash as I know the American chestnut. It’s sad, but I still fight to find the beauty in being alive to witness the turning of an age.