A Midsummer Oak

A Midsummer Oak
 
Acorn
 
The red squirrel jumped from tree to tree, then leapt onto the ground. Here was food, nuts in plenty, time for a feast. But the acorn was buried deep, and it remained untouched. The squirrel left to seek other trees, other nuts.
 
I am the acorn.
 
I am the seed, fallen into the ground, buried beneath the earth, lost to the sunlight. Down, down into the deep soil, I descend. It is a death, yet I am alive. I will be transformed by water and light. I will break apart, and rise. Green shoots will rise in the darkness, and break through the soil. I arise.
 
I am the acorn. I am the future hope after death.
 
I danced beneath the stars, the canopy of night
The seedling rooted, green; I am born of light
A dryad as a young girl, I wonder at the land
Beauty of the earth, wisdom surely planned
 
I danced beneath the stars, the canopy of night
To be so young, such promise, such delight
A dryad as a young girl, I wonder at the land
I stand by my tree; come and take my hand.
 
Sapling
 
I am the sapling.
 
The longbows needed arrows of oak. Hard fine wood, flying through the air towards a target. Death came swiftly in an arrow. So much bloodshed, so much needless waste. Young men marching to war, the great adventure. How little they knew; how few would return, broken, never the same.
 
I am young bark, soft bark, barely washed by the winter rain. The autumn winds blew strong, and many of my brothers snapped in the gales, broken before their time. I bend, but I do not break. But I will emerge changed, because I have come through the storm; it has not left me untouched.
 
I am the sapling. I am the promise of youth.
 
I danced beneath the planets, messengers of fate
Mars in the heavens, and opening death's gate
A dryad as a maiden, I wonder at the night
Weep at young soldiers, going off to fight
 
I danced beneath the planets, messengers of fate
The portents of hope, of the lovers who wait
A dryad as a maiden, I wonder at the night
Homecoming will dawn with such delight.
 
Mighty Oak
 
I am the mighty oak.
 
Oaken timbers creak in the sea, but they hold firm. Here is the heart of oak, on the rising waves, crossing the oceans; sails wind blown, on the great adventure; here are the great ships, the voyages of discovery, of strange new lands, of colonies branching out across the globe. And here is the ship's prow, painted in fine gold and green, and great sails unfurl to catch the wind, and moonrakers open up to catch the slightest breeze.
 
I am the mature bark, seasoned by the years, firm and strong. My branches spread out across the land, green leaves shading the earth, and fresh shoots rising into the air, reaching upwards into the sun. I am deep roots in the ground, drinking from the spring rain. Leaves blow in the wind, branches sway, but I stand firm my ground.
 
I am the mighty oak. I am fulfilment.
 
I danced beneath the moon, shining in the sky
Pulling the oceans, and now the tide is high
A dryad as a mother, I wonder at the stream
Flowing past the oak, flowing waters gleam
 
I danced beneath the moon, shining in the sky
Watching over forest, safe beneath my eye
A dryad as a mother, I wonder at the stream
Flowing ever onwards, like a magic dream.
 
Great Oak
 
I am the Great Oak.
 
The noble Roman Pliny told of how mistletoe entwined around the oak tree was sacred to the druids. When the time is right, when Midsummer had come, they come to take it from the tree for healing. A priest arrayed in white vestments climbs the tree and, with a golden sickle, cuts down the mistletoe, which is caught in a white cloak. They may also cut off and a burn portion of Oak in the Midsummer fires.
 
I am the bearer of wisdom, of ages past. I have seen the generations of mankind pass me by. They are born, they live but a short span, and they die. Children, adults, old people. Ashes to Ashes. And the seasons come and go, the years pass by, and I remain, more rings of growth deep within my bark. I bide my time, and wait to impart my blessing.
 
I am the Great Oak. I am the World Tree.
 
I danced beneath the sun, so full of heat and fire
With passion for the oak, I sing of my desire
A dryad now immortal, I wear a robe of green
A garland crown of flowers, as befits a queen
 
I danced beneath the sun, so full of heat and fire
Passing by the mortals, let my touch inspire
A dryad now immortal, I wear a robe of green
And I cast my spell, as I wander here unseen
 
I hear the soft footsteps of the dryads, dancing in the sacred grove, unseen to mortals, but these are my kindred, who have grown old with me. I take the light and send forth shoots, and I give light and wisdom to the sister of the oak, the mistletoe. And when it is Midsummer, the children of earth come in white robes, with golden sickle in hand, and I impart to them a fraction of my wisdom, a gleaning of the sun and night, the moon and stars.
 
This is my Midsummer gift.