I hope to make the same sacred journey one day. From flesh to soil to sap to fruit. Perhaps even “the sacred tang and tart of juniper berry”. A beautiful melancholy meditation. Thank you 💛
Thank you for this gorgeous piece. I found your Substack while scrolling on my phone in the back of a taxi, zipping along on the way to an airport in Turkey. Out the window, the mountains of Antalya are hulking against the sky, forested all the way up to their snowy peaks, and the air is hazy with bugs, pollen, butterflies, dust. Reading this glorious love letter to your juniper tree - joining you in attending to him in a way that is so tender, unhurried, expansive - then glancing back up at the thousands upon thousands of stories flashing past: oof. Not sure my psyche is capable of that sort of elasticity. Thank you for challenging me to notice how stretching of attention can go in so many ways
This is the most beautiful evocation of the cycle of life and death I have ever read. My heart broke and I wept at last for my mother who died in January. I really needed that. Thank you.
Dear Darkhorse. What a tender thing, the mixing of gladness and sadness in something like the right proportions. I'm so happy that you sat for a while with the tree and he gave you something you needed :-)
How you write of life and death, the central story, and the small journeys each of us makes from one to the other, with grace and gravitas in equal measure. Must we brave our fears to reach the wise juniper tree, perhaps to die in the attempt? Sometimes now in this ugly and cruel present, I wonder whether a spring in my heart has also given way; but then I see May in all its rebellious glory and read your heartbreakingly beautiful piece, and know that I am still awake to all of it. I can still cry. Thank you, dear David. xo
Ha, Carmine. You were made with fine strong springy heartwood :-) How many of your fellow trees are waiting for you to tell their stories, I wonder. A whole forest full, I bet.
Wonderful as always and yet again you have brought tears to my eyes. Your absence will certainly be noticed, enjoy your break and I look forward to your return.
Thanks again Sue. Tears are finest reviews I could hope for, as long as they're a mix of happy and sad :-) I cry all the time when I'm writing these pieces.
A beautiful story of life's adventure, the joys and perils of the other people and Mother Nature's constant cycle birth, life, death and rebirth. Thank you.
The very best of writing. Enjoy your break. I’m on one too. Bookmarking this for a re read and a share in the Encouragement Files when they’re back on 25th.
Always time to read beautiful words. Perhaps except when I’m driving from Portsmouth to Inverness in one day. The oasis of Tebay for pie and chips. But must press on.
How stunning, David. I hope you take this as the highest compliment I can give. When I read your stories, I fall in love. With history, landscape and language, the melody and poetry of names and places, trees and plants, rock, river and waterfall . Every beating heart.
The Juniper, washed and fed by rain, polished and etched by wind, aged by time, sculpted into a work of art and kept alive by the loving embrace of rock. If you do not mind asking the Juniper, I would very much like to sit by his side in your absence. I know, I know, he will tell you I am a stranger to your land , unworthy of his attention. Please explain, on my behalf, I would love to tell him a story about his distant relatives who live a world away. They wake each morning , stretching, reaching, their gnarled fingers over the pristine waters of Lake Champlain in Vermont. Casting spells over worn granite cliffs and distant sun drenched mountains called the Adirondacks, whose name came from the Iroquois Indians translated to, Barkeaters. Oh, and tell him I touched blue berried branches on a little piece of land called Juniper Island. I hope that will be enough for a nod of approval, or I should say, a wave of a branch. While I am no bard, perhaps our local Voles may know a few more stories I could borrow. I promise to keep him company until you return in June. Safe travels if you are off on an adventure, or just being near home, enjoy!
Dear Lor, the juniper tree would find it such a relief to sit with you and swop story for story, easy and natural. Not like that strange man who goes to him with an awkward manner and a knot in his tongue. Juniper Island indeed. That would be a fine introduction :-)
Thanks so much, Caroline. A funny sort of 'break', I'll have to confess. Writing up my PhD - the fascinating chapter about realisations of word-final lenited consonants as [f]. I know how to live it up ;-)
Ooops, sorry - so deeply immersed that I forgot to mention that I'm working in Irish Gaelic dialects :-) Doesn't make a lot of sense otherwise - if at all !
Dear David, I listened to your alchemy of words while hanging out on the hill in the last hour of this day. I sat on an outcrop of volcanic rock while half watching a fox - a handsome chap with not a care in the world, prowling, slow steps, then ears cocked and a pounce on something invisible to my eyes. Of course! I realise, slow as I am, the meadows were cut today, fine weather must be due, old fox, - I can call him that, I know him well enough though we don't speak of the chicken-coop saga - he knows well the bounty hidden in newly cut hay; field mice and voles, shrews too, he will dine well tonight!
By the time I'd watched a tumble and several more pounces I had finished listening to this tender ode to the gentle cycle of life and death I got to hoping by some small miracle, designed only for these moments, that when my time comes I may lay under the boughs of an old juniper tree, breathe my last breath in its scented shade rather than hear the crunch of my bones in the jaws of old fox. I might just say a prayer for that...
Wherever you are, enjoy whatever you're doing - You will be missed.
Oh you. Volcanic rock! You have all the mod cons and gadgets :-) I'm not going anywhere, happily, but need to focus on writing up a particularly troublesome chapter of my thesis. Don't I just know how to live it up!
.. was thinking of you just the other day .. though in context to a completely different & crazily rich marine ecosystem ..
Shared some early ‘pieces of yours - with my sister & tiny selection of my twitter homies.. haha.. they beg for more.. such as this !
I ‘lend voice & phrase’ to many creatures .. though ‘your voicing of trees, wind & waters .. the watchful open skies - whew !
A sort of ‘simplistic invented shamanism’ is my literary device or ‘tool - yet your ‘vision & ‘tellings are so enwrapped ! Entwined ! Engaging !
Am reminded always.. just how ‘minimal & even sparse .. one may need to be ‘cinematically .. to ‘represent .. or even ‘come close’ to capturing the ‘spirit energy & vibe’ of the creatures within & without & even in the breeze.. under a leaf or berry in the sun..
haha .. in another ‘fictional life .. might you be ‘akin to the ship’s Doctor in the books ‘Master & Commander - was created from !
That's kind of you, Thomas. Isn't it just a tricky thing - to touch the world so gently with our heavy, clumsy words that we don't crush the very beauty we were trying to speak of? I'll go on trying my best :-)
I hope to make the same sacred journey one day. From flesh to soil to sap to fruit. Perhaps even “the sacred tang and tart of juniper berry”. A beautiful melancholy meditation. Thank you 💛
Hi, Emily. Hope all's well. Aye, we have a shuffle of the pack before we deal the next hand ;-)
Thank you for this gorgeous piece. I found your Substack while scrolling on my phone in the back of a taxi, zipping along on the way to an airport in Turkey. Out the window, the mountains of Antalya are hulking against the sky, forested all the way up to their snowy peaks, and the air is hazy with bugs, pollen, butterflies, dust. Reading this glorious love letter to your juniper tree - joining you in attending to him in a way that is so tender, unhurried, expansive - then glancing back up at the thousands upon thousands of stories flashing past: oof. Not sure my psyche is capable of that sort of elasticity. Thank you for challenging me to notice how stretching of attention can go in so many ways
Hi Katie. Thanks for sitting next to the tree for a few minutes. He is taking all the attention in his stride, as you'd expect :-)
This is the most beautiful evocation of the cycle of life and death I have ever read. My heart broke and I wept at last for my mother who died in January. I really needed that. Thank you.
Dear Darkhorse. What a tender thing, the mixing of gladness and sadness in something like the right proportions. I'm so happy that you sat for a while with the tree and he gave you something you needed :-)
How you write of life and death, the central story, and the small journeys each of us makes from one to the other, with grace and gravitas in equal measure. Must we brave our fears to reach the wise juniper tree, perhaps to die in the attempt? Sometimes now in this ugly and cruel present, I wonder whether a spring in my heart has also given way; but then I see May in all its rebellious glory and read your heartbreakingly beautiful piece, and know that I am still awake to all of it. I can still cry. Thank you, dear David. xo
Ha, Carmine. You were made with fine strong springy heartwood :-) How many of your fellow trees are waiting for you to tell their stories, I wonder. A whole forest full, I bet.
Wonderful as always and yet again you have brought tears to my eyes. Your absence will certainly be noticed, enjoy your break and I look forward to your return.
Thanks again Sue. Tears are finest reviews I could hope for, as long as they're a mix of happy and sad :-) I cry all the time when I'm writing these pieces.
This was the one thing I stopped to open and read in my inbox this morning - thank you!
That's kind of you to say, Sarah. I always worry about piling even more stuff onto the big pile of words out there :-)
A beautiful story of life's adventure, the joys and perils of the other people and Mother Nature's constant cycle birth, life, death and rebirth. Thank you.
Thanks, Ralph, for sparing the time to sit by the tree. He hasn't had so much company in many a year :-)
The very best of writing. Enjoy your break. I’m on one too. Bookmarking this for a re read and a share in the Encouragement Files when they’re back on 25th.
Thanks for taking a few moments to sit with the tree - and you being busy packing and all. Best of luck on your biggest of big trips.
Always time to read beautiful words. Perhaps except when I’m driving from Portsmouth to Inverness in one day. The oasis of Tebay for pie and chips. But must press on.
Ha! Tiny world. You begin to see Mallerstang Edge rising up resolute if you go just a couple of miles east from Tebay. Best of luck with the A9!
Roadworks aplenty on the A9. Glad to be back on a bike tomorrow!
How stunning, David. I hope you take this as the highest compliment I can give. When I read your stories, I fall in love. With history, landscape and language, the melody and poetry of names and places, trees and plants, rock, river and waterfall . Every beating heart.
The Juniper, washed and fed by rain, polished and etched by wind, aged by time, sculpted into a work of art and kept alive by the loving embrace of rock. If you do not mind asking the Juniper, I would very much like to sit by his side in your absence. I know, I know, he will tell you I am a stranger to your land , unworthy of his attention. Please explain, on my behalf, I would love to tell him a story about his distant relatives who live a world away. They wake each morning , stretching, reaching, their gnarled fingers over the pristine waters of Lake Champlain in Vermont. Casting spells over worn granite cliffs and distant sun drenched mountains called the Adirondacks, whose name came from the Iroquois Indians translated to, Barkeaters. Oh, and tell him I touched blue berried branches on a little piece of land called Juniper Island. I hope that will be enough for a nod of approval, or I should say, a wave of a branch. While I am no bard, perhaps our local Voles may know a few more stories I could borrow. I promise to keep him company until you return in June. Safe travels if you are off on an adventure, or just being near home, enjoy!
Dear Lor, the juniper tree would find it such a relief to sit with you and swop story for story, easy and natural. Not like that strange man who goes to him with an awkward manner and a knot in his tongue. Juniper Island indeed. That would be a fine introduction :-)
Poignant; sublime. Thank you.
That's generous of you, Patricia, as always :-) Thanks for sitting with the tree for a whiley.
Utterly beguiling! So glad I stumbled across this joy today.
Enjoy your break from Substack, David. I look forward to your return.
Thanks so much, Caroline. A funny sort of 'break', I'll have to confess. Writing up my PhD - the fascinating chapter about realisations of word-final lenited consonants as [f]. I know how to live it up ;-)
I don’t even know what ‘lenited’ means, but I’m going to look it up. Good luck with the PhD! (#Yolo 😂)
Ooops, sorry - so deeply immersed that I forgot to mention that I'm working in Irish Gaelic dialects :-) Doesn't make a lot of sense otherwise - if at all !
Dear David, I listened to your alchemy of words while hanging out on the hill in the last hour of this day. I sat on an outcrop of volcanic rock while half watching a fox - a handsome chap with not a care in the world, prowling, slow steps, then ears cocked and a pounce on something invisible to my eyes. Of course! I realise, slow as I am, the meadows were cut today, fine weather must be due, old fox, - I can call him that, I know him well enough though we don't speak of the chicken-coop saga - he knows well the bounty hidden in newly cut hay; field mice and voles, shrews too, he will dine well tonight!
By the time I'd watched a tumble and several more pounces I had finished listening to this tender ode to the gentle cycle of life and death I got to hoping by some small miracle, designed only for these moments, that when my time comes I may lay under the boughs of an old juniper tree, breathe my last breath in its scented shade rather than hear the crunch of my bones in the jaws of old fox. I might just say a prayer for that...
Wherever you are, enjoy whatever you're doing - You will be missed.
Oh you. Volcanic rock! You have all the mod cons and gadgets :-) I'm not going anywhere, happily, but need to focus on writing up a particularly troublesome chapter of my thesis. Don't I just know how to live it up!
You sure do! ;-) I wish you luck and all the quiet moments you need David.
Oh my goodness, how I love this post. The vole’s description of winter—both unspoken and spoken—will stay with me. Absolutely gorgeous!
Hi Holly. Thanks for taking the time to sit with the tree. As you'll have gathered - I just sit and listen and copy things down :-)
.. was thinking of you just the other day .. though in context to a completely different & crazily rich marine ecosystem ..
Shared some early ‘pieces of yours - with my sister & tiny selection of my twitter homies.. haha.. they beg for more.. such as this !
I ‘lend voice & phrase’ to many creatures .. though ‘your voicing of trees, wind & waters .. the watchful open skies - whew !
A sort of ‘simplistic invented shamanism’ is my literary device or ‘tool - yet your ‘vision & ‘tellings are so enwrapped ! Entwined ! Engaging !
Am reminded always.. just how ‘minimal & even sparse .. one may need to be ‘cinematically .. to ‘represent .. or even ‘come close’ to capturing the ‘spirit energy & vibe’ of the creatures within & without & even in the breeze.. under a leaf or berry in the sun..
haha .. in another ‘fictional life .. might you be ‘akin to the ship’s Doctor in the books ‘Master & Commander - was created from !
🦎🏴☠️🦅
That's kind of you, Thomas. Isn't it just a tricky thing - to touch the world so gently with our heavy, clumsy words that we don't crush the very beauty we were trying to speak of? I'll go on trying my best :-)
Maturin. These novels should be read by all seeking literary adventure. Love the reference Thomas.
Exquisite, soulful writing, full of heart and wisdom. This was an absolute joy to read. Thank you.
You're very kind, Catherine. I'll tell the tree that his storytelling found a good home :-)
Well, you brought me to tears this morning. I hope you're happy. Seriously, a lovely, gentle and poignant piece.
Thank you , Amy. I cry every time I write one of these pieces, sometimes just a dribble, other times a big old sobbing :-)