Tree 25 :: the treego ::

June 10^th, 2010
Location: Cumberland Basin flyover, nr. Rose of Denmark pub, Bristol
Type: Birch / Poplar

My camera is beginning to smell like trees. I like it. So I took the plunge and started the process of sorting out a blog. Up Trees is its name, which if you are reading it will know by now. I’ve resisted it as should I get an audience puts pressure on ‘performing’ – producing something readable and entertaining and enlightening and…etc. Can I be a fountain of wisdom and joy and interest for every tree I climb – for a year. Hmmm. So it potentially ups the stakes – which could make it more interesting or more contrived. We shall see. And my ego doesn’t wish to be shrunk be embarrassing entries.

So – do trees have an ego? It sounds like a stupid question. The trees have been worrying about how they look, what other trees or beings think of them – whether it is status for a tree to have birds roosting in your branches, or the reverse like having an infestation of rats. Whether trees are ageist? Does the ego require free will? In which case – can a tree slowly choose which way to grow? How many leaves to shoot, when to seed? Or go to seed? Where is a trees brain?

Would you feel continually trapped being a tree, stuck? And the patience you’d need. Such a slow existence. Or would you be like a monk – perpetually mediating – experiencing nature all around, day in, day out, wind, rain, seasons, infestation, death, competition for light, drought, human intervention, losing branches or half your self to lightening, or gravity x weight x rot. Putting up with, and enjoying it all. Born with a total acceptance and appreciation of potential and slim likelihood of survival. I’m seeing a tree – in an overgrown wood / between two roads – a flyover or by the sea…etc. It stands there, rooted to the spot but it’s totally calm. It stands, it sits – its back straight up, its legs crossed under the soil, at the neck it’s head and arms are wild and reach upward together – exulting something. The twigs and branches press the leaves out in seasonal rhythm, with no complaints. That’s what I saw in my skull. The straight back / trunk silently pumping nourishment upward. And finally the gift of breath exhaling to feed the world through it’s green giving without questions. Or maybe they stand there feeling excruciatingly frustrated – longing to be chopped down and put out of their misery on a fire. Longing to tear up their roots and run with no hope of every achieving it. Suffering, wheezing, forcing the oxygen out through tiny blocked pores and gasping for more CO². Desperate and trapped…

I recon they  love it. They holds hands, play footsie under the ground with each other. Trees are saucy little creatures. Continually aroused by everything : ) See what getting a blog does to writing? Suddenly it comes round to sex… Do trees have sex? Via bees and birds? Does that count as bestiality? Hmmm…. lowering the tone.