Saturday, April 13, 2013


Unexpectedly, in the month of April, the trees froze. There was no sunlight to glint off the water-encased branches, but still, under stone grey skies, the affect of rows and clusters and miles of glass trees was one of an uneasy wonderland.

Then, the wind came, less than softly, and a new language was born. The trees, at the mercy of everything, spoke to each other through the rustle and clink of their frozen fingers. It was a sound I had never heard before, a sound that could vaguely be described as plastic bags being crinkled.

I wondered if the trees were using the portal of unexpected climatic convergence to tell secrets in earnest to each other. To rise quickly to the occasion of muteness reprieved to comfort each other, to whisper hello, to wave, to warn, to say to their neighbors 2 streets away, "I stand with you."

I have noticed in unexpected circumstances, new languages beg to rise and become known.

I have noticed and I have lived, am living, the subtle nuances of openness coupled with boundaries. The particular dialect of letting go and letting go again. The foundation and certainty of a Universal energy, ancient and ever new, that vibrates to the heartbeat of a mouse, the silent, circulating rivers of my blood, and speaks of truth and only truth.

It is all the language and layers of love.

It will take more than one lifetime to become fluent.


  1. oh graciel. i love your language. And of course the trees talked to each other. you know it. :)

  2. I love this, the very idea of it. Ice storms always awe me with their dark destructive beauty. I wonder what the trees have to say about it. Somehow, I have a feeling that you have a head start on learning that language, light years beyond the rest of us.

  3. I does take a lifetime to become fluent, so true.
    How I sometimes wish we could become fluent sooner, but it isn't to be.


I always appreciate the time you take to comment on my blog. Thank you for stopping by. Peace from my heart to yours. xo, Graciel