Trees are beautiful things. The way the the green of their leaves heal you just by looking at them, and the mystical way they stand. Whenever I see trees, still or swaying, whether from inside a car, or through a window, or even when I'm just standing there, they talk to me; they whisper stories in my mind.
I have never really seen a hawthorn tree before, except in pictures. But I somehow always picture them as swaying in the strong wind, branches and sleeves of beautiful green bent outwards to one side, valiant in the effort to stay rooted to the ground. The way it is not very tall, nor pretty, but always strong.
Willow trees, however, have a different aura to them. I have only seen these trees in China before; and I have a soft spot for these trees as well due the the same name we share: 柳。 They stand beautiful and sober in the cold autumn breezes, with their branches of drooping leaves bowed down, greeting all; but yet, they too, in my mind, are just as strong in another different way.
Is it just me who likes to imagine? Trees help. My heart seems to leap out of my chest when I think of the stories and ideas that go with trees, and these I have many. Like when Hawthorne is trapped in the roots of his hawthorn tree, too weak to pick up his vined violin to save himself; or when Sophie hugs that tree in that moment with strong winds gushing about her, trying to penetrate the heart of the tree. I feel an ache of unexplainable longing when I picture all these things in my mind. Imagine it, with everything about to die, or fade to nothing, with only a tree to root everything in place, and that tree, the centre of all mystical objects with it leaves tearing off hundreds by hundreds, thousands by thousands, its twigs and broad branches that hold all life and wisdom spiralling off to the worlds beyond, never to come back to their own heart, gone forever along with their treasures; but the roots dig deeper and deeper in, knowing that if they lose, all will be lost.
The beauty of this always seems to twine around my heart, and drag it along to where this wonderful, mystical place is; but I am never there, yet never here.
