A Dream of Trees

I dreamed that I was one of the trees, and I was free— who … who? I could smell the sun spilling down, like a golden whisper— I touched it, I felt it fill my roots. What pleasure!

It was all about me, as no one we knew, as every tree leapt toward the dawn, turned the dark red cherry trees smaller, as ever so slowly wind and wing opened the boughs. In the soft light of the sun I sang each night, spilling light into the branches, as I poured each gift. I waited deep in the woods and smelled each birth, every place where I wanted green, wanted alive and bright.

If only I could share this yearning, that dance of air with the trees, all of nature will speak to you now! Can you hear it so close? The sweet calling, that deep and rich beckoning resting still among us.

Even now, as I tell you this, there is a cleansing breath. I dream—I become one with the wind, till all merges and flies away— as that first sun spills, you see, I step carefully toward all of life, having grown, having spread my wings.

Each shadow becomes a song, the light is sheer now, and we rise together, in the view of God and the stars. I am free, as I wish in the dream of freedom, all flourishing in the moonmeadows!

• Mary Oliver