If I wasn’t married, I would marry a tree. Why?
For example, the hardy sweet gum tree that was in my front yard for over thirty years knew how to set the stage for a peaceful dreamy evening. I’d sit on the porch with the tree nearby, and we take in our world, one breath at a time. The tree exhaling and I inhaling oxygen while the birds and squirrels, our only nonintrusive neighbors, played. When it was time to work, I’d write in full view of my sanctuary, the garden that included my tree.
To trees in general: As a living thing trees speak my language. There aren’t any “Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus” communication problems. Trees listen without judgment. They accommodate with outstretched limbs, while I climb, sit, and meditate. They wait patiently and ask nothing when I jump down and walk away. They do not lose their bark over an unkind remark or perceived betrayal. They won’t be looking for greener pastures. Trees don’t turn gray or become depressed. True, they are susceptible to disease and die, but longevity programmed in their DNA, they usually succumb long after human admirers are long gone.
Also, trees get my needs for purpose and legacy building. Think about what trees have and do provide. To name a few tree accomplishments: rafts and canoes for our early exploration, shelter, paper, food, and medicines. Consider the roots of a tree producing sprouts and runners long after the tree itself is cut down, usually to create better curb appeal, fighting to preserve the flora and ecosystem.
I would definitely say, ”yes,” to a tall, green, and handsome tree. I call it love when I see sunlight filtering through a tree canopy at dusk. The light is golden just before shadows sets in, not unlike afterglow feelings associated with honeymoon periods or makeup sex. It’s a dang shame a tree can’t snuggle with me in bed. Oh, well, not any relationship is perfect.