humans and trees

I wanted to wrap my arms around her. I wanted to tell her everything will be okay. I wanted her to know I was proud of her. Instead, I said: “I’ll drive.” How could I do to her, what others have had to do for her to me? I couldn’t. As human life moves around me, nature makes more and more sense. Nature is steady. The firs standing on the hills around this town blend perfectly with the low clouds. Some would say fog, but it’s not dense like fog hearty enough to last all day. It’s light, like walking through a cloud. The sky is blue and clear but the sun’s rays do not melt the ice on the ground. Nature is full of relationships. Relationships that are full of give and take and mutual connection. I understand nature--- as best as I can, for I will never really know it--- but I don’t get humans so well. People make me feel awkward, trees make me feel confident. But every day has it’s night and so do all situations, as long as you’re willing and able to see the forest through the trees. I can stand in front of a group of people and give a speech or directions and appear smooth and capable, dozens of people have deemed me a natural leader; I can stand deep in the woods and feel slightly nervous at how helpless and unaware I am, hundreds of people are more experienced with the wild than I am. So in relationships of give and take, of cooperation, flexibility and understanding. In days with nights and sunrises and new days and sunsets and new nights. Where am I? Not with people, but not with nature. They say there’s a fine line between brilliance and insanity. I say there are different types of isolation, with a path that’s just wide enough for someone to walk in between them. And, from my experience, the walker feels invisible, but, in the never ending waves of relationships, the trees know I’m here, and human life goes on. It’s almost a sick satisfaction listening to her frustrations. Knowing them internally as my own. But somewhere, deep inside where that little girl still hides, there’s a hint of sadness. I couldn’t hug her, but when I tell you about this, I’ll hug you.