If Trees Could Talk

A tree lives a life most of us never pause long enough to notice. It stands in the same place for decades, sometimes centuries, enduring everything the world throws at it. Scorching summers. Bitter winters. Lightning, drought, storms that rip at its branches. The slow gnawing of insects. The careless cuts of humans. The hungry curiosity of animals.

And yet, it stays.

Not just stays, it gives.

A tree gives oxygen without asking for thanks. It offers shade to anyone who needs it, no questions asked. It grows fruit, seeds, and shelter for creatures who will never know its name... Or do they? Even after its life ends, it becomes the beams that hold up our homes, the tables we gather around, the books we read to our children.

There’s a quiet nobility in that kind of existence.

Maybe that’s why cartoons and movies so often imagine trees coming to life, walking, talking, offering ancient wisdom. It’s easy to believe they’d have something to say. After all, they’ve seen everything. They’ve endured everything. And still, they choose generosity over bitterness.

If a tree could speak, maybe it would tell us to slow down. To root ourselves in what matters. To weather the storms without losing our sense of purpose. To give more than we take. To stand tall, even when the world feels harsh.

Or maybe it would simply whisper, “I’m still here. And so are you.”

If a tree could speak, I think it would tell us to keep going. To root ourselves. To breathe. And maybe that’s exactly what this lost human needed to hear.

Sarah