Thank you all for your wonderful contribution to this post.I am enjoying all the poetry and the images.

Oak trees come out of acorns, no matter how unlikely that seems. An acorn is just a tree's
way back into the ground. For another try. Another trip through. One life for another.
- Shirley Ann Grau

He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water,
that brings forth its fruit in its season,
whose leaf also shall not wither;
and whatever he does shall prosper.
- Psalms, 1.3

I am deeply touched by this beautiful thread.

Sincerely,
Gisele

The trees continue to inspire all of us, it's just so very beautiful!



Trees reach to heaven

reflecting in the blue lake

the heart sighs in awe


haiku by Margherita







Love,
Margherita

Thank you Margherita. Your images and your words are always very beautiful.


The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a
green thing that stands in the way. Some see Nature all ridicule and
deformity, and some scarce see Nature at all. But to the eyes of the
man of imagination, Nature is Imagination itself.
- William Blake, 1799, The Letters

I frequently tramped eight or ten miles through the deepest snow
to keep an appointment with a beech-tree,
or a yellow birch, or an old acquaintance among the pines.
- Henry David Thoreau, 1817 - 1862

I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way
they have to live than other things do.
- Willa Cather (1873-1947), O Pioneers 1913

When you enter a grove peopled with ancient trees, higher than
the ordinary, and shutting out the sky with their thickly inter-twined
branches, do not the stately shadows of the wood, the stillness of
the place, and the awful gloom of this doomed cavern then strike
you with the presence of a deity?

- Seneca

That tree whose leaves are trembling:
is yearning for something.
That tree so lovely to see acts as if it wants to flower:
it is yearning for something.
- Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, 1395

And you, how old are you?
I asked the maple tree:
While opening one hand,
- he started blushing.
- Georges Bonneau, Le Sensibilite Japonaise, 1935
Dodoitsu

A tree uses what comes its way to nurture itself. By sinking its roots deeply into
the earth, by accepting the rain that flows towards it, by reaching out to the sun,
the tree perfects its character and becomes great. ... Absorb, absorb, absorb.
That is the secret of the tree.
- Deng Ming-Dao, Everyday Tao, 1996, p. 18.

Alone with myself
The trees bend to caress me
The shade hugs my heart

- Candy Polgar

Some keep the Sabbath going to a Church,
I keep it staying at Home -
With a bobolink for a Chorister,
And and Orchard, for a Dome.
- Emily Dickenson, No. 324, 1862

I love this absolutely beautiful thread.
Thank you everyone.

Sincerely,
Gisele

Everything
just as it is,
as it is,
as is.
Flowers in bloom.
Nothing to add.

- Robert Aitken, Roshi, As

Advice from a Tree
By Ilan Shamir

Dear Friend,

Stand Tall and Proud
Sink your roots deeply into the Earth
Reflect the light of a greater source
Think long term
Go out on a limb
Remember your place among all living beings
Embrace with joy the changing seasons
For each yields its own abundance
The Energy and Birth of Spring
The Growth and Contentment of Summer
The Wisdom to let go of leaves in the Fall
The Rest and Quiet Renewal of Winter

Feel the wind and the sun
And delight in their presence
Look up at the moon that shines down upon you
And the mystery of the stars at night.
Seek nourishment from the good things in life
Simple pleasures
Earth, fresh air, light

Be content with your natural beauty
Drink plenty of water
Let your limbs sway and dance in the breezes
Be flexible
Remember your roots

I am enjoying the beauty of the trees as I go for a walk. The autumn colours are very beautiful.

Love,
Vicky

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time
like dew on the tip of a leaf.

R. Tagore

The Banyan Tree


O you shaggy-headed banyan tree standing on the bank of the pond,
have you forgotten the little child,
like the birds that have nested in your branches and left you?

Do you not remember how he sat at the window
and wondered at the tangle of your roots that plunged underground?

The women would come to fill their jars in the pond,
and your huge black shadow would wriggle
on the water like sleep struggling to wake up.

Sunlight danced on the ripple like
restless tiny shuttles weaving golden tapestry.

Two ducks swam by the woody margin above their shadows,
and the child would sit still and think.

He longed to be the wind and blow through your rustling branches,
to be your shadow and legthen with the day on the water,
to be a bird and perch on your topmost twig,
andto float like those ducks among the weeds and shadows.

R. Tagore