If you read my blog, you will know how inordinatedly fond of our tree companions I am. I draw from them, they aid my daily life, and have consistently refreshed and rejuvenated me. I praise the skies, and the earth for their presence, as have scores of poets and visionaries before me, and millions of others I am certain. I have been spending time on a digital painting today, and it reminds me of a poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson. this is the first stanza of quite a long poem called Woodnotes , and it is a celebration of living with nature.Enjoy it . And here’s my painting.
WHEN the pine tosses its cones
To the song of its waterfall tones,
Who speeds to the woodland walks?
To birds and trees who talks?
Cæsar of his leafy Rome,
There the poet is at home.
He goes to the river-side
Not hook nor line hath he;
He stands in the meadows wide,
Nor gun nor scythe to see.
Sure some god his eye enchants:
What he knows nobody wants.
In the wood he travels glad,
Without better fortune had,
Melancholy without bad.
Knowledge this man prizes best
Seems fantastic to the rest:
Pondering shadows, colors, clouds,
Grass-buds and caterpillar-shrouds,
Boughs on which the wild bees settle,
Tints that spot the violet’s petal,
Why Nature loves the number five,
And why the star-form she repeats:
Lover of all things alive,
Wonderer at all he meets,
Wonderer chiefly at himself,
Who can tell him what he is?
Or how meet in human elf
Coming and past eternities?