Nature Brings Me Home to My Heart
An ancient oak is my safe harbor
There’s a great ancient oak tree not far from my abode. It has a thick, gnarly trunk with deep wrinkles and long branches. The branches cascade like an umbrella in the summer, shielding the wildflowers beneath them from the full sun. I sit under the tree when I want nature to bring me home to my heart.
“We’re always at home if we’re peaceful.” As she spoke, my friend Sal ran her fingers over the clematis blooms in my garden.
I thought about her comment before saying, “Yes, home can be a feeling when we’re not referring to it as a house. It’s a sense of belonging, of being cherished, safe, and free to be ourselves with wild abandon.”
Sal leaned in to sniff the pink blossoms. We watched bees fly among the flowers and listened to the birds scurrying to and fro, busily building nests.
I once sat under the giant oak while celebrating the joy of spring, grounding myself by kicking off my shoes and letting my bare feet sink into the grass. I also visited the tree when I grieved and needed solitude but paradoxically longed for the company of nature.
I remember the oak’s canopy above me felt like a loving embrace. It was as if the tree whispered, “It’s okay. I’m here for you.”
