On trees and psalms.

Attending morning Mass at the Cathedral, I smiled at today’s psalm, which invited all the trees of the wood to shout with joy. I imagine that trees have a lot to be joyful about: the richness of the soil at their roots, the gentle warmth of sunshine on their leaves nourishing them, the sweep of rain which blesses them. I imagine that trees spend their lives embedded in the Sacred which permeates all creation, of which all creation is made up.

I imagine the joyful shouting of trees to be beyond hearing. Like the music of the spheres. So loud and slow and eternal that humanity could never hope to capture it. Perhaps birds and other quiet, simple creatures could. Perhaps the trees’ shouting is seen in the way their branches reach for the glory of the sky. Silent, still shouting.

Such poetic things, trees.

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