As the autumn leaves begin to fall, some tree tales.
The horse chestnut: Last autumn I scattered my conkers generously as usual over the Rectory grass at my feet. But unlike as usual, the vicar failed to sweep them up. They got trodden into the winter turf. Spring, and many germinated, pushing their little roots bravely down into the soil. My children! Their little chestnut-y leaves sprouted. The vicar didn’t cut the grass often. So they grew in strength. Now, this autumn, the vicar is painstakingly having to dig them out – hundreds of them. How he is learning what life us trees bring!
The churchyard yew: The church bells are ringing for an autumn wedding – rustling my leaves and tingling my roots. I love the bells! Funeral tolling too I’ve heard countless times down the centuries; I give shelter to many of their graves. My own arms are old now, drooping even to the ground. But the youthful voices of children playing in the churchyard keep me young.
The olive: For generations past, my family owners have tended me lovingly, and harvested my fruit. I am their prosperity and their inheritance. Old and wrinkled I may be, yet faithful and fruitful still. But the bulldozers are coming. I will be ripped brutally from the ground, roots and all, like so many others. The illegal settlers care not a jot for me nor my family. For I rest on Palestinian soil. They’ve brought destruction. I bring life.
The healing tree: You won’t need to sweep my autumn leaves. I’m evergreen, but not coniferous. I’m taller than any tree, and my branches reach out to embrace all humankind. For I am the tree of life. I was in the Garden of Eden. Much troubled water has passed under the bridge since then. So now, as St John beautifully put it in his Revelation, my leaves are ‘for the healing of the nations.’ Young and old rest in my shade, clamber in my branches, and eat my fruit. I am here for all.
