Arboreal - A Wild Night

 

The Friendly Tree

I’ve found a place beside a friendly tree,
Where I’ll hide my face when the world hurts me,
For the tree will never hurt; I shall love it to the end;
It shall have a dear, dear name:
“My true and silent friend.”
                                                                    Annette Wynne

The weather had been pleasant for a few days. There was a hint of warmth in the weak sun when it crept between the clouds and the temperature was a constant 17 degrees centigrade. We set off for a short break in our caravan, to an unfamiliar site just north of Garstang. Rural and surrounded by trees was the main appeal, besides the practical requirement for us, fully serviced pitches. A pub with restaurant was only a five minute drive away. Handy for dinner. Luckily, we’d finished setting everything up before the rain came, the weather breaking as we expected. By nightfall the wind had increased. The trees took on a loud wildness, branches swaying, leaves rustling. Psithurism. Almost stormy, certainly scary. Tucked up in my sleeping bag, worrying about the possibility of being crushed by a falling tree, something brought to mind stories from my childhood, in my Enid Blyton era. The Enchanted Wood, The Magic Faraway Tree and all of those books which captured my imagination. I wanted to live in one of those tiny houses at the top of the tree. I think I still do. By morning, the wind had lessened to a breeze and the rain continued. We didn’t get to sit outside, but it was a nice break.

Galloway Forest Park is perfect for a stroll or a drive, with lots of woodland wildlife, hidden from view. Some areas are dense with pine trees. It is interesting to go off track and just listen to nature. It’s somewhere we like to visit on our regular trips, though we need to stay on the road and in the car these days. I’ve never seen a red squirrel, but live in hope.

Lots of grey squirrels live in my neighbourhood. There’s a regular, well-fed visitor to my garden and I’ll often find buried monkey nuts, which I try not to disturb too much. I think they come from tree-lined East Park Drive, or the trees on the local field.

I love this poem,

Poplar Trees are Happiest

Poplar trees are laughing trees,
With lilting silver call.
Willow trees droop weepingly
And never laugh at all.
Maple trees are gorgeous trees
In crimson silks and gold;
Pine trees are but sober trees,
Aloof and very old.
Black-oak trees walk sturdily,
And live oaks eager run;
The sycamores stand lazily
Beneath the summer sun.
But poplar trees are laughing trees
Wherever they may grow –
The poplar trees are happiest
Of all the trees I know.

                                  John Russell McCarthy.


Thanks for reading, Pam x