Many poets of old have acknowledged talking to trees and have been ridiculed or dismissed as crazy and I confess to thinking likewise in the past. But something in me has always sought to understand or communicate with the rest of created matter. There has always been a deep knowing that somehow it is possible to talk to trees and hear responses. I have discovered that silence, silence and stillness with an openness to receive that which your mind denies gives us an insight beyond any academic framework. This is the realm of poetry and art and only those of us willing to surrender to the creativity within us find such mystical worlds. Literature over millennium bears witness to this phenomenon. Where else do Tolkien, Emerson, Moses, Beowulf and Gibrain, to name but a few find, the almost universal images of other worlds if not in nature itself and the ability to immerse ourselves in it without judgement or limitation?
I go bush to hunt, to be refreshed and to listen to the stable wisdom of ages. It is the very essence of life to me.