A Conversation of Trees

I’m sitting in my family room on Sunday afternoon, alternating between watching the Wimbledon tennis tournament on television, and the wind wafting through the trees in my backyard. Frankly, I’m not sure which is more engrossing.

Tennis is tennis.  I don’t think I need to explain that one, other than to note that generally I cheer for the American.  Or the underdog.  And for many years the Americans have been both.

Woof.

Back to the trees.

First, I should mention that yesterday I actually took a closer look at a blade of grass. Grass. That’s something we walk on but seldom observe closely.  Perhaps this blog is really about paying attention.

Back to the trees, waving in the wind.  At least ten different shades of green. Beautiful.  And, in the breeze, it seemed as if the trees were having a conversation.

“Meet you at the park,” one said.

“I love to watch the children play,” another added.

It was a perfect afternoon for a convocation of trunks, branches, and leaves in my backyard forest, on an early summer afternoon in Southern California.

I’ve read that in music the pauses between the notes are just as important as the notes themselves.  In conversation the pauses signify that we are taking turns, listening to one another and sharing information, feelings and ideas.  In nature the movement of the leaves lets us know that we are alive and aware, and in the presence of a force that is as awe-inspiring as it is invisible -– the wind. Like life itself, also remarkable, and, in many respects, invisible.

What can I bring to this windy afternoon?

My attention.

I’m remembering the end of Arthur Miller’s play Death of a Salesman, in which his widow reminds us that, even to her mess of a husband,  “attention must be paid.”

The universe is large. But everything depends upon our paying attention. To the leaves fluttering in the sunlight.

Alan