Yesterday, Midsummer and Full Moon was a magical day.  Truly magical in so many ways.  But I want to talk about one short private moment.  I took a walk to the nearby remnants of an oak grove.  Now there is an office complex on the site.  But there are still a few ancient giants that were carefully preserved, with much root space between them and the parking lots.  These few stately trees are heritage trees tracked by the state and illegal to cut down or deface. 

I walked out to two brother-trees who are so near each other their root systems are shared.  These two trees have created a shared canopy, each approximating a half of a hemisphere high in the sky.  The limbs are long, twisted and gnarled, stretching out so far it seems they must fall from the weight.  But, they don't fall.

I sat under one of the trees, closed my eyes and breathed.  Slowing my heart.  Feeling the earth.  Feeling the life all around me.  Feeling the tree's presence.  It was difficult to let go and be in the present because of the noise from a nearby freeway.  In fact, it was impossible.  And then I realized that it's impossible for the tree to sink into the now-time of a forest as well.  I began to feel the presence of a shadow-forest.  A forest I've never seen.  A forest long gone and never known by the people who live in this community and work in this office complex.  "But," I thought, "What of all the new trees that have been planted?  The sycamore?  The willow?  And it sank in.  The trees surrounding these old lonely Giants are young and are domesticated.  They bear little resemblance to their own wild ancestors.  And they have no wisdom to share with the remnants of a forest that they were meant to replace.

I leaned back against the tree and stared up.  Through the leaves the mid-day sun streamed, bright and crystalline, throwing each leaf, each twig, each fold of bark into sharp relief.  There were no birds in the branches.  There was no sound of frogs or crickets.  There were no chattering squirrels.  These beautiful oaks, preserved and protected, live in a psychic desert that is unrelieved by the irrigation systems.  The deep meditative hum that I usually feel in the presence of a mighty oak or redwood was fitful and irritated.

I promised the two trees that I would come back again soon.  And I walked slowly away in the bright almost unearthly light of the solstice sun.

Brightest Blessings this Midsummer.