“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more, I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity, but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree.”
I am fortunate to live in the remarkable Great Basin. Just an hour drive away are the oldest trees on Earth — the Bristlecone Pines.
I’ve also been a few times to southwest Utah — Bryce Canyon, Zion, and Escalante, then back past the 8,000 year old Aspen Grove.
Then there’s my own quince tree, at the end of the street, it catches the litter that blows through the neighborhood, gift wrap, an ad for the bunny ranch, and once, a $20 bill, inspiring my short story, “The Cannibis Lady”.