healingwords: poetry for the soul

I reminded today of my lovely Dad and his fairy stories, told to me when I was a child and repeated to his grandchildren. I miss him today and everyday and the garden where he and my mother created a wildlife haven and where we sat together with the birds and the fae. 

This beautiful holm oak is in the centre of a hidden grove of trees, protected by smaller oaks and brambles. Entering the grove feels like walking into the rarefied atmosphere of a great Cathedral, a sacred space of stillness.  I feel calmed and renewed leaning on the strong trunk, looking upwards through the canopy to the sky. 

This winter I planted a number of acorns I picked up in the woods where they littered the ground around the holm oak trees. I followed instructions and put them in a moist bag in the fridge for a few weeks, then with my grandsons help, planted them in the long pot where my mint grows. Months past and we were delighted to see tiny oak plants spouting, with the familiar spiked holly leaves of the holm oak. Some weeks later I decided to transplant them to their own pots and was amazed to find that the inch high oak had a root at least 10 times as long, wrapping around the planter. I worried that moving such a long root would damage the plant but so far they are still alive and hopefully getting used to their new pots.  In the wild where the earth is often baked hard and dry, it takes rain and the passing of an animal to squelch an acorn into the soil. Baby oaks grow very slowly, shadowed out by the faster growing, invasive pine. I hope one day to take my little oak plants and find a g...

Today I needed the warmth of the sun, the blue of the sky and the healing of the trees. Resting my back on the old Oak I could feel my heartbeat slow as I closed my eyes and drifted away.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Leaning on the old oak trunk, warmed by the midday sun, I gazed through the branches. The window to the sky drew my eye as I listened to the humming bees feeding on the rosemary and followed a butterfly flitting around the leaves. My eyes started to close as the blue overwhelmed me and for a few minutes I floated, drowsing, in the sky.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Signs of Autumn as wild boar snuffle the earth, eating acorns and burying others to grow as new shiny shoots in Spring. This vibrant green is this year's growth, the ground under the holm oak trees covered with tiny, spiky holly oak trees.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

This holly or holm oak tree is covered in ripening acorns, peeping out from their cups. The vibrancy of the green in the sunshine lit up the hillside, bright against the duller shades of pine, rosemary and dry summer grasses. Today I am travelling to Ireland and looking forward to a change of scenery, away from the Mediterranean to a northern autumn.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

I always love looking up at the sky through trees. This is as rewarding in summer with the cool shade of leaves as in winter when the tree bones are like sculptures in the sky. These oak trees are in a small grove overlooked by fast growing pine, fighting for their own light.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

On a day our minds are overwhelmed with the reality of the Amazon burning, I look out over our trees. The holm oak trunks were moist yesterday after the recent rain but looking up at the canopy, the leaves looked dry and stressed. Enough rain fell to dampen down the pine needles and reach the earth but the hillside is still suffering after the long, hot summer. I hope the Autumn rains come early to help reduce the constant risk of wild fire.   This oak is one of my favourite trees. A lost branch has left the owl face looking out over the countryside while overhead the pigeons fly.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

The other day I sat on dusty earth surrounded by a crunchy oak carpet under a beautiful old oak tree. It was early morning, by 8am it is too hot too walk very far. I was worried by the dryness of the land and the tree, its canopy not looking lush and green but browning and autumnal. A dry leaf fell on my lap as wind blew through the branches. I hope it survives the next few months of heat without too much damage, awaiting September rains.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

I have had to spend some time in hospital and my mind wanders to the outdoors. This is one of my favourite trees, I will visit as soon as I am able.  As with the NHS, I am grateful for the care of the Spanish public health system, also under pressure of cuts and privatisation. We must never take public health care for granted. It is there at our hour of need.  This short poem wrote itself.  OAK GROVE Scramble over terraces pocked with ash stone plucked from terracotta by knarled, ancient hands, mossed with sage velvet, wrinkled in lichen etched chamomile  gold. Scratched by wild bramble, barbs claiming denim, entrapping ankles, spiked wire wool bundles guarding tumbled walls, protecting the entrance to the Grove within. Pass opened boundary to stand, still, in silence, seek assent to proceed. Honcho Oak beckons me, crunch leaf and acorn, lay hand on cragged trunk, lean, nurtured, at Oak’s feet. © 20...

A tree poem to end the week, in homage to a much loved Oak, long may it stay hidden and protected.  Long days pass without sight of people; I hear them near, Summer sounds, laughing children splashing in pools, humming chatter of families, cars raising dust on dry dirt lanes. I remain hidden, concealed, buffered by barbed brambles  guarded by my progeny,  holly spiked  holm oaks  circling my secluded grove. Today she returned once more, this quiet human friend, mother walking with daughter, their hushed words vibrating on the still autumn air, they brush open the brier gate, treading softly on crinkle leaf carpet, stopping to face me, arm in arm, I absorb their awe at my presence. Deep roots transmit crunched footsteps, the sun caked earth trembling, she pauses to seek whispered blessing, here are the tree seekers, tree keepers, I sense the trust of their gentle touch, browned arms girdle my jagged...

In the fierce heat of a Spanish summer walking among trees is a cool pleasure tinged with awareness of the constant risk of forest fire. I have seen our hillsides burn and the explosive flare of a resin filled pine tree, followed by the whisking of fire by wind to set light to more trees is a terrifying vision of nature's destructive potential. After the fires the land is blackened and seems dead but some trees and shrubs survive as small flushes of green and under the ash nature is renewing itself. Spring sees fresh shoots, the land slowly greens and in a few short years verdant growth replaces the burnt earth.  This poem is inspired by a recent walk on a misty afternoon, the humid heat broken by shafts of burning sun as the clouds lifted.  Following the path and spotting the trails of the wild boar who are at home on the hills of El Carrascal, I felt their eyes watching from their daytime lairs.   HOLM OAK Winding through pine trunks, path scuffed...

Near my childhood home is the historic village of Berkswell where I have walked with my family and friends all my life.   Medieval buildings cluster round the village green with 200 year old stocks shaded by a huge oak. The 12th century Church of St John Baptist, built on the site of a Saxon church, stands in an extensive grassed graveyard, carpeted with bluebells and primroses in Spring. The path winds through a copse to open fields where marshy, sheep dotted grassland leads the eye to a tree fringed lake. Climbing to higher ground stands a glorious oak, watching over the land for hundreds of years. TREE OF LIFE Ancient winter oak etched black against azure sky awaits its greening. © 2017 Jacqueline Claire Knight.  All rights reserved.