When I Listen to the Trees, They Are Rain

Simple Joy #2

Summer musings, simple joys.

I have a love of trees. I climbed the neighbor’s backyard variety as a kid, romanticized the weeping willows I saw growing up, and associate the aroma of fresh Douglas Fir with winter holidays.

I love crooked how’d-they-get-that-way trees that look like the leaning Tower of Pisa and bonsai’d anything.

As I begin a return to nature in earnest this summer it has me thinking of my arboreal friends. It’s today’s simple joy.

Edgewater neighborhood beach during autumn, Chicago. Photo courtesy of Karen McKinley.

Autumn color gets all the glory. Mother Nature puts on a fantastic show in my city, splashing gold topaz, fiery reds, and last hurrah greens for a real visual hoopla before entering their lamentable winter dormancy. I say lamentable because, until recently, the bare branches of winter held no particular fancy for me.

Lincoln Park fog in spring, Chicago. Courtesy of Karen McKinley.

Then there’s spring….it gets quite a lot of attention too. Again with the color. And, if you’re lucky, scent. Unless you’re cursed with seasonal allergies who doesn’t love a bit of spring rebirth?

Now winter…it’s taken me a while to gain an appreciation for winter trees. I mean, they’re naked for Pete’s sake. There’s nothing there of beauty to speak of.

Or is there? On a grand winter day with blue skies so piercing the light hurts your eyes, they stand there as stoic sentinels, centurions for generations as we mere mortals come and go with our lakefront antics. They bloom year after year regardless of our approval or argument. We take part in the symbiotic relationship without considering its existence.

Fullerton Beach, Chicago a few years ago. Courtesy of Karen McKinley.

There’s this one tree- it’s actually four large trunks shoved so close together it looks like one tree- by the lake, close to where I live, that is my favorite.

During the summer, if you close your eyes when the wind blows that full canopy of leaves sounds like a gently cascading waterfall. In autumn, when the leaves begin to dry out in preparation for The Great Falling, close your eyes and it sounds like rain.

Try it some time. Do the thing. Close your eyes and listen.

What do the trees tell you?

Yours truly,

Vivie V. McKinley