Imagine roots sprouting from your feet, sinking deep into the Earth, grounding you, and connecting you to the ancient rhythms of life. Feel your bark, rough and strong, protecting the tender flow of life within you. Your branches stretch high, reaching for the sky. You are on top of a hill overlooking a small village nestled in a timeless English countryside. The villagers move about their days, but you are older than any of them. You are timeless, your roots deep in the earth and your branches reaching for the stars.
The longest night of the year surrounds you. The air is crisp, and frost clings to your branches like tiny crystals. You feel the deep stillness of the earth, a slumbering energy that rests beneath the surface.
In the village below, the humans gather in their homes. You see the warm glow of candles and hearth fires flickering in the windows. They bring evergreen boughs into their homes, holly, ivy, and mistletoe, symbols of enduring life in the depths of winter. A great Yule log burns in the central hall, its sparks a prayer to rekindle the sun. The villagers feast, laugh, and exchange small gifts, celebrating the return of the light, even if it’s only a glimmer on the horizon.
You feel their hope echo in your roots, and you know that the turning point has come. Though the world is cold and still, the light begins its slow return, and the earth dreams of life. Think on the sources of light and joy within your life.
The air begins to shift. A faint warmth stirs beneath the frost, and your sap starts to flow, a sluggish but determined current of life. The first snowdrops and crocuses push through the earth near your roots, defying the lingering cold.
Down in the village, the humans light candles and kindle small fires. They honor, the goddess of hearth and home, and the keeper of the flame. Women carry bowls of milk and seeds to your base, offering them as a promise of life to come. They sweep their homes clean, a ritual of preparation for the growing light.
You feel their reverence for this fragile moment of awakening.
Though winter still holds sway, the promise of spring whispers
through your branches, carried on the faintest breeze. Feel the
small spark of light awaking within you, what do you need to do to
nurture it?
(wait)
Balance has returned. Day and night are equal, and the earth begins to awaken in earnest. Buds swell on your branches, and the first leaves unfurl, delicate and green. The air is filled with the song of birds returning to nest in your canopy.
The villagers gather in the fields. They sow seeds and hang colored ribbons from your branches, laughing and singing as they do. Eggs, a symbol of fertility, are painted in bright hues and hidden among the roots of trees. Children run through the village, collecting them with glee.
You feel the surge of life all around you. The humans honor the balance of light and dark, celebrating fertility, growth, and the endless cycle of renewal. Fell the life of the earth lending life to the potential within you, what do you need to nurture in your life?
(wait)
The air is warmer now, and fragrant, filled with the perfume of blooming flowers. Your branches are now lush with leaves, and tiny fruits begin to form where blossoms once were. Life buzzes all around you as bees hum and birds sing.
In the village, the people dance around a tall Maypole adorned with bright ribbons, weaving them into intricate patterns. Couples leap over bonfires, celebrating love, passion, and the vitality of life. The fields are lush and green, and laughter carries on the breeze.
You feel their joy as they revel in the height of spring. Your leaves dance in the same breeze that lifts their ribbons. Together, you celebrate the fecundity of the earth and the intoxicating energy of life in full bloom. Feel the connection of all life, remember that you an all things are one.
(wait)
The longest day comes and bathes the hilltop in golden light. Your branches stretch high, soaking in the sun’s warmth. Your fruits grow heavy, ripening under the sun’s caress. The world is at its peak, bursting with vitality.
The villagers gather at dawn to greet the sun. They sing, drum, and light bonfires, celebrating the zenith of light and life. Offerings of flowers and herbs are placed at your roots, thanking the earth for its abundance.
You feel the fullness of this moment, the sun’s power infusing every leaf. Yet even now, you sense the faint shift, the days will soon grow shorter, and the wheel will turn again. You revel in the slow and lazy heat of summer and you think upon those things that fill your heart with beauty and joy.
(wait)
The first fruits and grains are harvested, and you feel the weight of your ripened bounty. Some of your fruits are gathered by the villagers, while others fall to the ground, returning to the earth.
In the village, people bake loaves of bread from the new grain and share them in a great feast. They honor the god of light and for the gifts of skill and sustenance. They weave straw into intricate shapes, leaving them in the fields as offerings of gratitude.
You sense their bittersweet joy, the harvest is a time of plenty, but it also marks the waning of the sun’s strength. The cycle of life, death, and rebirth continues. You think upon the lesson of needing to take life to sustain life.
(wait)
The day and night are balanced once more, but now the darkness grows stronger. Your leaves turn brilliant shades of gold, orange, and crimson. One by one, they fall, creating a colorful carpet at your roots.
The villagers celebrate the second harvest, gathering apples, berries, and nuts. They offer libations of cider and wine, thanking the earth for its gifts. Families share meals, reflecting on what they have received and what they must let go.
You feel the energy of release and gratitude. The world prepares for rest, and you let go of what is no longer needed, trusting the cycle to bring renewal. You think upon that which you are most thankful in life
(wait)
The air is getting colder and tinged with the scent of decay. Your branches are bare now, save for a few stubborn leaves clinging to the past. The veil between worlds feels thin, and the whispers of ancestors drift through your roots.
In the village, the people light lanterns and build altars to honor their dead. They leave offerings of food and drink for wandering spirits. Children play games with apples, while elders tell stories of those who have passed. The villagers know that death is not the end but part of the great cycle.
You stand as a witness to their remembrance, feeling the deep stillness of the earth as it prepares for winter. Death is here, but so is the seed of rebirth. You think on those who you have loved who have journeyed from this life.
(wait)
Soon, the longest night of the year surrounds you once again. The air is crisp, and frost clings to your branches like tiny crystals. You feel the deep stillness of the earth, a slumbering energy that rests beneath the surface.
In the village below, the humans gather in their homes. You see the warm glow of candles and hearth fires flickering in the windows. They bring evergreen boughs into their homes, holly, ivy, and mistletoe, symbols of enduring life in the depths of winter.
You have stood through a full cycle of the year, feeling the rhythms of nature and witnessing the celebrations, understanding the wisdom of life- the ebb and flow, the balance of light and dark, the endless dance of death, and renewal.
Take a deep breath and feel your roots retract from the earth. Your branches soften, and your bark becomes skin once more. When you are ready, open your eyes. The wisdom of the tree remains within you, a reminder of your connection to the eternal cycles of the earth.
