Where the Sycamore Grows

The silence of its presence stood tall across the landscape. Its worth, immeasurable amongst its peers as it dwarfed its surroundings, only to be heard when the winds swooped in from the north and disrupted its harmony and balance, creating a rustling through its leaves as they bristled and fell in the chill of the autumn air. Bird song once carried far and wide by those same winds, now lay distant and quiet.

Across the ages, seasons have come and gone, yet the tree remained tall. The first rays of dawn had kissed its bare branches with the promise of renewal in the spring as it hibernated through the cold of many winters. It had found respite in the coolness of sunsets in the haze of summer and not saddened when its leaves fell in a carpet around its trunk as the cool subtleness of autumn slowly took hold.

The once wind-swept plains team with suburbia as nature fights for the long-forgotten space of freedom, purpose and worth. It is not their freedom, purpose and worth they fight for, it is ours and ours alone for we are the holders of perception, beliefs, awareness and action as the tree remained our witness and breath across time.

Its canopy offered a magnificent creation of protection as young nestled under the nurturing wing of a parent, tucked neatly into a woven nest of twigs and leaves high up and out of sight of prey within its branches as the little ones grew and learnt to fly.

Nature has its own tune, rhythm and timing. Have we noticed? Or has our inner conflict blurred the lines between expansion, value and worth? Do we honor the value of shade in summer, or the worth of fallen leaves in the autumn as they give back to the soil that gave them life?

Do we value the history? Or not notice until it’s gone? Do we wish to paint or photograph landscapes without trees? Or are we more interested in the view beyond their reach?

Do we value the richness it brings to the landscape with an abundance of flowers in the spring? Or are we too time poor to appreciate the simple beauty of its place in the eco system and prefer instead to focus on the time needed to attend to its needs not realizing time spent can be relaxing, calming and joyful?

There is an essence when you stand under the canopy of a tree, an essence of freshness and life, and one of coolness and shelter in summer. An inviting space in nature reserved just for us, a picnic blanket, bare feet, book and wine if we choose.

It’s a magical place of inspiration, peacefulness, respite and time with self as one contemplates life, legacy, connection, direction and a well-deserved rest. Have we shut out time for ourselves and inspiration for our passions? Have we lost sight of our purpose and worth along our journey with time? Have we not given ourselves the space we need to think about our life, or are we overwhelmed with busyness and are unwittingly contributing to our own disheartenment, displeasure and demise through want and lack of choice?

As we age, do we notice what is left? Or do we notice what’s gone? Do we stand as tall as a sycamore? Or do we remain silent until external factors poke and prod our comfort zones impeding upon our dislikes just like the winds upon the leaves, forcing us into a space of response? Or do we put our roots into the ground and stand tall in the face of adversity anyway?

The truth is, no one knows until we are tested, and tested we are.

Amongst the rolling hills of northern England stood a lone tree. It grew for 120 years to 15 meters tall, sheltered in a dip in the landscape along a cliff edge, as it bore witness to the surrounding ancient and historic landscape.

Widely acknowledged and celebrated, it added its fullness and worth to an iconic movie as it made a name for itself as the Robin Hood Tree. Its beauty, captured in photographs, sometimes lit from underneath against the darkness of the night sky sprinkled with the light of a thousand stars, until it wasn’t.

It took but one person to act and another to witness and the tree was gone. Lost to time and space without question or reason, no value, no worth other than a trophy early one misty autumn morning, the landscape robbed of its inherent worth and beauty in a mindless decision of ill-will and blatant vandalism until someone noticed.

The tree lives on in the memories of those who have been in its presence and on the pages of newspaper and internet articles. The gift it has given is one of hope as it has subsequently sprouted back into life from the stump that had been left behind. Although coppiced, it appears healthy as new shoots appear.

Seedlings have been sprouted from the seeds and twigs gathered at the site and the first seedling was presented to King Charles III with the promise that when it matured it would be planted in Windsor Great Park. One wonders if it has.

The tree was always itself. The gift is what it created for humanity through awareness and connection. People gave it meaning, purpose, beauty, and worth through the eyes of lovers and proposals under its canopy, artists with their easels and paint, photographers with their cameras and photographs, justice, injustice and correction for the community. The sycamore championed a cause without protest, created unity in silence and shone with resilience in the light of the respect it had earnt by being itself, being present, standing tall and being seen.

The gift that was lost was not just the bird song from its branches; it was its presence. With hope, love and nurture, it may take 200 years to become what it once was, but as nature does so well, it survives and it’s our turn to be witness to it and the gift of life that nature is and reminds us of daily when we take the time to notice its resilience and flow.

Gratitude is one of the greatest gifts of awareness and acknowledgement we can have, along with kindness, compassion, generosity and love. The tree gave to everyone and everything without asking for anything in return, yet when it truly mattered people stepped up to care without limitations or asking for anything in return, other than holding on to hope for its continuation of life and seeking justice for its place and worth upon the earth.

Let us not judge the actions of others as we cannot walk in their shoes, we can only walk in our own.

May we harness our breath with kindness and not waste a single ounce on distraction, and just like the sycamore that started from a seed, may we grow strong and resilient. May we find our joy through purpose and worth within our place in the world, the place where we choose to put down our roots and grow our spirit into something extraordinary just by being ourselves. And like the sycamore tree, may it all be done with humility, harmlessness, purpose and grace and allow history to be the witness of our legacy of what we choose to leave behind.