Kendall, while your other essays are masterpieces, this is the one that I will cherish in my heart. When I was a little girl, I remember saying to an elder "I think God could be a tree, don't you?", and in what I assume was their fear at drawing outside the lines of dictated ideas about god in religion, they replied, "Shame on you for saying that! There is nothing like god."
That stayed with me and haunted me most of my life. But since then, I have come full circle, and now when I walk through the forest and touch the same tree I always say hello to and stare up into the canopy of elders amongst light and birdsong, I feel there could be no greater congregation. No greater form of prayer than to be be amongst these raised branches, leaves and birds collectively chanting: glory!
Your essay, and your communion with the tree, felt to me like what prayer is. And the wisdom of what the tree has to offer nothing more than divine wisdom. Oh, if we would listen to the trees! To the earth, to the birds ... what wisdom we would gain.
Thank you for this. It was the prayer I imagined in my heart as a little girl when I looked up at the sky, mused about the divine and thought, "I think god could be a tree."
Oh, Sabrina, thank you for this share. I know that you know more about my own backstory in writing this now, but I just want to reiterate that there was never anything shameful in your wisdom in seeing God in the trees (and everywhere!) I am so sorry that you were haunted by that for so long, and so honored that this essay began to heal some of that for you. I just adore you, my friend.
Yes, as a counselor this is my orientation with clients. I name the years of conditioning as it arises in a gentle and non-judgmental way and we together reveal the true loving and vibrant soul that exists beneath the layers.
This was a prayer I needed today. Thank you, Kendall.
Thank you for the reminder to thank the trees. So many lessons, looking right down at us. Buried right by our feet.
This was one of those essays I kept hovering over passages, wanting to restack sentence after sentence. You have such a gift in how you deliver your words. There is a pure cadence to it.
The trails that abut my home are buried with deep hard packed snow - preventing me from visiting my “home” tree. I miss being back there so very much. Next week, forecast here calls for 60s and sun. Melt melt melt the snow please. So I can get back to my prayers with the pines.
In the meantime, this was a balm to my soul. 🙏🏼
This sentence:
How incredible it seems to me, that a being so anchored to the earth begins its life more moth than monolit.
Oh gosh, Allison, thank you for this wonderful comment. I am so honored. I do hope the snowpack melts and allows you more time among the trees soon. This past week was the first of those for me, as the snow is quickly retreating here. My daughter found the first flower of the season yesterday, and I am fully itching to get out on the trails. The whole world is opening its arms again! xoxo
Kendall you write and live so beautifully. Thank you for the encouragement to live openly to community when we’re able and not to eat bitter fruit when we’re not.
Death is a tragedy, of course, and feels like a tragedy to the survivor. But it is ultimately just a measuring stick for a thing that always was, is, and shall be. And that is cause for joy, even in the midst of fear or tears.
“I simply respond.” That’s it! That’s it! A perfect answer from the earth beings who embody presence, past and future only abstractions. There is a kindness in “simply responding” because it is relational, not transactional, founded in deep entanglement.
Love how you went to your trees to let go, to listen for new answers, and ultimately found them in the witnessing of multitudes.
Oh Kendall .. the way you write allows me also to settle and arrive…and then to be so magnificently drawn in and inspired by the tapestry of our star- dust cellular connections that you vividly weave .. what a gift ✨.. and so many passages and images that I keep returning to as resonant wake up calls .. a real treat to wake up to 🕊️
Thank you Liz! Excuse my tardiness in relying (here and in my email)— this week has been filled with frenzy, and I am gratefully landing back among the trees again today. That line: “…inspired by the tapestry of our star- dust cellular connections…” YOU are such a poet, my friend!
I talk to trees—maybe even converse with them—frequently. What a privilege to be in the presence of such elder beings. Metaphors becoming realities, if that makes sense.
Another beautiful piece that was a joy to read. Thank you! Peace.
I love every beautiful word of this...and "I would do well to let my own past straighten my spine while no longer giving it my energy" resounds with me..to my core!
Kendall, I'll let it sit awhile. Such a beautiful writing. I confess, trees are not my friends and forests not places I feel comfortable in. Nevertheless your conversation with that pine was truly a treat to read. I might have some thoughts when it comes to comparison, judgement, inadequacy yet I am unfortunately too tired today (given it is 9 pm and I have spend vom 10am to 6pm in Hannover) to find coherent thoughts about it. Just know i have a bit a different experience around the "sealing off" when the world is unsafe, for I can only remember a tiny fraction of time in my life when I miraculously was feeling safe. And therefore I have a different perception.
Many thanks for your thoughts, my friend, especially considering how tired you must be! I would love to hear your thoughts, always. I am left with the question of when "sealing off" is an act of self-love and respect (as it often is), and when it is self-protective to the point of atrophy. Rest well! xoxo
WHEN I AM AMONG THE TREES
by Mary Oliver
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
Well, that is the PERFECT poem for this essay, friend! Thank you so much for bringing me some of Mary's goodness today. xx
Mary is so filled with sweet flora and fauna verse.
So much goodness. Xx thank you for introducing me to nature science and ocean wonders I hadn’t explored or discovered yet.
You’re welcome, friend! Xx I so appreciate your writing.
This entire writing resonated with me like magic. Beautiful, heartening. Such wonderful feels from your delightful words. I am, for now, at peace.
That's the most wonderful compliment, Shannon. Any amount of peace is needed right now. xx
Kendall, while your other essays are masterpieces, this is the one that I will cherish in my heart. When I was a little girl, I remember saying to an elder "I think God could be a tree, don't you?", and in what I assume was their fear at drawing outside the lines of dictated ideas about god in religion, they replied, "Shame on you for saying that! There is nothing like god."
That stayed with me and haunted me most of my life. But since then, I have come full circle, and now when I walk through the forest and touch the same tree I always say hello to and stare up into the canopy of elders amongst light and birdsong, I feel there could be no greater congregation. No greater form of prayer than to be be amongst these raised branches, leaves and birds collectively chanting: glory!
Your essay, and your communion with the tree, felt to me like what prayer is. And the wisdom of what the tree has to offer nothing more than divine wisdom. Oh, if we would listen to the trees! To the earth, to the birds ... what wisdom we would gain.
Thank you for this. It was the prayer I imagined in my heart as a little girl when I looked up at the sky, mused about the divine and thought, "I think god could be a tree."
Oh, Sabrina, thank you for this share. I know that you know more about my own backstory in writing this now, but I just want to reiterate that there was never anything shameful in your wisdom in seeing God in the trees (and everywhere!) I am so sorry that you were haunted by that for so long, and so honored that this essay began to heal some of that for you. I just adore you, my friend.
Such a solid yet soft and grounding truth spoken here K. This is who we really are in our pre-conditioned pure hearted intuitive souls.
I will likely return to this piece a lot in 2026 and beyond…to remember my organic true nature. 🙏
Thank you, Suzanne! I love how you said that, “our pre-conditioned pure hearted intuitive souls.” Perfection. xoxo
Yes, as a counselor this is my orientation with clients. I name the years of conditioning as it arises in a gentle and non-judgmental way and we together reveal the true loving and vibrant soul that exists beneath the layers.
This was a prayer I needed today. Thank you, Kendall.
Thank you for the reminder to thank the trees. So many lessons, looking right down at us. Buried right by our feet.
This was one of those essays I kept hovering over passages, wanting to restack sentence after sentence. You have such a gift in how you deliver your words. There is a pure cadence to it.
The trails that abut my home are buried with deep hard packed snow - preventing me from visiting my “home” tree. I miss being back there so very much. Next week, forecast here calls for 60s and sun. Melt melt melt the snow please. So I can get back to my prayers with the pines.
In the meantime, this was a balm to my soul. 🙏🏼
This sentence:
How incredible it seems to me, that a being so anchored to the earth begins its life more moth than monolit.
Ooooof!!! ✨✨
Oh gosh, Allison, thank you for this wonderful comment. I am so honored. I do hope the snowpack melts and allows you more time among the trees soon. This past week was the first of those for me, as the snow is quickly retreating here. My daughter found the first flower of the season yesterday, and I am fully itching to get out on the trails. The whole world is opening its arms again! xoxo
Kendall you write and live so beautifully. Thank you for the encouragement to live openly to community when we’re able and not to eat bitter fruit when we’re not.
Such a needed reminder right now, Naomi. Thank you for being here!
Death is a tragedy, of course, and feels like a tragedy to the survivor. But it is ultimately just a measuring stick for a thing that always was, is, and shall be. And that is cause for joy, even in the midst of fear or tears.
That's beautiful, Greg.
“I simply respond.” That’s it! That’s it! A perfect answer from the earth beings who embody presence, past and future only abstractions. There is a kindness in “simply responding” because it is relational, not transactional, founded in deep entanglement.
Love how you went to your trees to let go, to listen for new answers, and ultimately found them in the witnessing of multitudes.
Oh I love how you said this, Kimberly. I know that you know all about what it is to respond and accept. Thank you for leading the way.
Lovely reflections...and what a writing room! 😍
Thank you, Bonnie! I hope to spend many an hour up there this spring!
Thank you for this rich tree tale, Kendall. The tree tribe are generous with their gifts. Each one generates a field of peace around itself. xo
That means so much coming from you, Carmine, of the tree tribe!
Oh Kendall .. the way you write allows me also to settle and arrive…and then to be so magnificently drawn in and inspired by the tapestry of our star- dust cellular connections that you vividly weave .. what a gift ✨.. and so many passages and images that I keep returning to as resonant wake up calls .. a real treat to wake up to 🕊️
Thank you Liz! Excuse my tardiness in relying (here and in my email)— this week has been filled with frenzy, and I am gratefully landing back among the trees again today. That line: “…inspired by the tapestry of our star- dust cellular connections…” YOU are such a poet, my friend!
Your words are like water. Humility hairshirts to mycorrhizal cocoons.💜🌲
That’s so beautiful, thank you Mary Beth. xoxo
I talk to trees—maybe even converse with them—frequently. What a privilege to be in the presence of such elder beings. Metaphors becoming realities, if that makes sense.
Another beautiful piece that was a joy to read. Thank you! Peace.
I am not at all surprised that you are a fellow tree-talker, Robert. Wisdom seeks wisdom… thank you for being here.
I love every beautiful word of this...and "I would do well to let my own past straighten my spine while no longer giving it my energy" resounds with me..to my core!
Oh, I’m so glad that resounded with you, Bette! xx
Thank you for taking me into your backyard and inviting me to heal and regroup under your meercat pines. Ah, I can breathe again!
You are welcome in my backyard (and indeed at my kitchen table) anytime, Kitty! xoxo
Kendall, I'll let it sit awhile. Such a beautiful writing. I confess, trees are not my friends and forests not places I feel comfortable in. Nevertheless your conversation with that pine was truly a treat to read. I might have some thoughts when it comes to comparison, judgement, inadequacy yet I am unfortunately too tired today (given it is 9 pm and I have spend vom 10am to 6pm in Hannover) to find coherent thoughts about it. Just know i have a bit a different experience around the "sealing off" when the world is unsafe, for I can only remember a tiny fraction of time in my life when I miraculously was feeling safe. And therefore I have a different perception.
Many thanks for your thoughts, my friend, especially considering how tired you must be! I would love to hear your thoughts, always. I am left with the question of when "sealing off" is an act of self-love and respect (as it often is), and when it is self-protective to the point of atrophy. Rest well! xoxo