In the vast expanse of nature’s wisdom, where every leaf whispers a story and each tree stands as a sentinel of time, a deep truth reveals itself: the boundless vitality of the leadwood tree. Amidst the cacophony of modern life’s offerings, from miracle creams to fleeting fads, nature’s embrace has brought me peace and wisdom, where the flora and fauna hold the keys to a holistic existence.
As the seasons wax and wane, and the years etch their lines upon the bark of ancient sentinels, I’ve come to cherish the profound wisdom inherent in nature’s cycles. Like the leadwood tree, weathering the storms of time with grace and resilience.
As someone who loves nature, especially trees, I’ve been inspired by my journeys through forests and jungles. These ancient giants hold a special place in my heart, and I hope to capture their beauty and strength in my words.
In the heart of a forest deep and old,
A leadwood tree has its story told.
From a four-winged pod that fell from the mother tree,
Guided by the wind, wild and free.
Placed gently in the rich soil where it needed to be.
Rain dripped down its crawling roots,
Through storms and soil, it took its stand.
Breaking through the darkness to sunlit land, a leadwood was born.
Over centuries, it grew almost 20 metres tall.
Strong and wise, it stood through it all.
An elephant’s might could not make it sway,
As it watched souls pass, day by day.
Whispered secrets dance around its trunk, captured in its wrinkles, each story sunk.
Women gathered, their laughter light, as the leadwood dropped flowers in the night.
Cough mixtures were brewed as the leadwood gave freely, out of love and light.
Tribes sought shelter within its dense embrace, keeping their ancestors safe in its sacred space.
A promise between a tree and a man,
The morning light rays shining through the leadwood forest,
The tree agreed to protect those who sought its help.
Through days and nights, the leadwood did thrive.
Witnessing life in its full, vibrant dive.
The transformation from caterpillar to lunar moth, the owl’s nightly call.
The leopard’s claw, the soft-pressed cheek of a child’s wonder.
The lost souls are seeking my guidance.
Dancing in the wind, feeling storms break,
Held by its trusting roots.
Losing leaves, knowing flowers bloom.
Protector and protected by the forest sisters,
Connected deeply like a pride of lionesses.
Eight hundred years, a life well spent in grace,
As the leadwood’s final days were floating away.
But in keeping its promise, it stood tall.
Though leaves may fade and branches die,
The leadwood’s spirit continues to fly.
A guardian of tales in the forest’s song,
Forever remembered, where its roots belong.
Jess Shillaw
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