like a seed down in the soil.

walking through the cobblestone streets of savannah, georgia, a few weeks ago, i was struck by our natural relation with trees as human beings.

thick spanish moss hangs from the knotted trees of the historic district, and it's hard not to feel something for the gnarled trunks & branches littering savannah.

trees are continually viewed as symbols of life.

witnessing the progress of a freshly planted sapling maturing into a fruit-bearing tree merits an awe akin to watching a child transform into an adult. trees count life like we do--their years are contained in the rings of their trunks. they sprout as the nurtured product of their ancestors, but eventually they begin to create their own fruit. their growth is affected by their environment; the soil they're planted in & the climate they're exposed to both dramatically influence a tree's development. even trees raised in extraordinarily similar conditions can twist & crook in extraordinarily different manners.

and there is something plain heartwrenching about a dead, barren tree.

one of my favorite books when i was younger was the giving tree by shel silverstein.

we've all read it.

we ache for the selfless tree who gives her fruit, her branches, & finally her trunk in an effort to please the little boy who grew up swinging from her branches & napping in her shade.

it's easy to empathize with her.

we already feel so close.

i miss new england's maples & oaks. i love watching their leaves turn motley reds & yellows during autumn. i miss sitting high in my childhood climbing tree in the backyard, reading books with a view over gorton pond. i miss pointing out the eyeballs on the birch trees on my way to school every morning.

i laughed when my dad started talking about plant spirits a couple weeks ago, but i'm starting to think he might've been onto something. there's life in the trees.