A love for lions. A love for mythical lands. A love with fur coats. An obsession with open doors or wardrobes (and walking with my eyes closed through them hoping that somehow I would end up in Narnia.) All of these are still in tact to this day, but most importantly, my love for trees.
I don’t know if everyone’s five-year-old mind went straight to looking for mythical lands in everyone’s house and my backyard, with a large leopard coat on after watching that movie, but mine sure did. I wanted to find a place where trees talked and I could fight in wars. And ride on the wings of griffins (a life-long goal.)
I never found Narnia. I think I cried a couple days when I had to tell myself that it would never happen, and sometimes I still find myself climbing the stairs with my eyes closed in anticipation. But trees…trees are different.
It started out as I would go down to creek outside my house when I was eight and sing, and the trees would wave in the wind. My imagination taught me to think that they were telling me my voice was pretty and if they stopped waving they did not like it.
That was all it was for a long time. Just me and the trees. Then one day, I was angry. there was no one to talk to and so I went outside and sat under a tree. A crape myrtle. It was blooming and looked really inviting. So I sat in silence for a while, and then slowly I told her all of my problems. It felt good. Because:
- She will never tell my secret
- She was really inviting and sweet
- It felt good to rant and she didn’t get annoyed
I named her Elaine, and Elaine still is my secret tree. I made a habit to try and make new tree friends every where I go.
I probably sound like I’m insane, but I promise you, I’m not. It’s just a habit. I wave to them, they wave back, and trees I think deep down beneath all the bark, they understand me. Yeah I sound insane. And before I go, I do think dryads are real in my imagination, not in real life.