Fears die in the shadow of trees.
Grandpa used to say so.
He’d press his face against the widest oak, whisper his fears to its trunk, and encourage me to do the same. We would talk to the trees– until our cheeks were imprinted with the shape of bark, until our secrets skulked their way out of our stories.
A tree is a good place to hold your fears, because they are strong– rooted in the heart of the earth mother. They shake the darkness of your worries off– carrying them away of a river of leaves, casting them deep into the shadows.
For a brief moment, those same shadows will cover the morning light but eventually– always– a determined ray of sunshine will wiggle free.
We would see the ground dancing with the glitter of the sun, and we would smile at each other. Another senseless fear had died in the depths of the shadows, thanks to these leaves that we were gathering for mulch.
Grandpa used to say that leaves belonged to the earth mother– borrowed and sacrificed for his fears and the fears of the ones he loved.
Returning their power to her was the very least he could do.
credit to – Indy Kethdy
Picture Writing Challenge: http://cognitivereflection.wordpress.com/2013/08/19/picture-writing-challenge-8/
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Have you ever raked leaves? Have you ever hugged a tree or told your secrets to it? Did your chores come with fairy tales, too?
