A Dream of Trees

I think the last time I saw a tree like that it was impossibly green, fragrant, hundreds of wild creatures hurtled between branches, flew, danced around, scurried below dozens of red flowers just beneath. Oh green could become a sonnet, ay a chant beyond the colors that be, or a wild prayer one must chant, so lovely that it steals the air from the lungs. I long for such trees. Like an old friend, the lamp above, gives meaning to darkness and guides my steps with a golden glow: how could I forget the sea I sailed in? Or the trees that pulsed and vibrated, a thousand green hearts beating in the shadows of their leaves? Where do we go for our dreams? For our rest? resting beneath the branches of dreams? For we exist in beauty, our souls anchored to earth, to the trees’ trunks, in forests we might wander forever— carried by the breath of the ancient ones, of what was and will be again.

I need these trees, I need their secrets. I need their song to lift me up, to strengthen my heart— I need the wildness of nature, this moment, and the dreams of trees to hold me close.

• Mary Oliver