On my walk, I marvelled at the intense greening all around. the innocent young oaks are a frothy mass of foliage and flowering. They have grown unhindered, like fortunate children, from the moment of planting.

Then, I came to a row of older trees – limes, that have been severely pollarded. I paused there, musing on how new growth is springing out of the very places that were pruned and cut. The long slender branches that reach to the sky remain dry and bare, but close to the scarred trunk, leaves are bursting out.
I wondered whether this happens with us too, that the very site of our pain attracts nature’s attention. Isn’t this where the most intense growth takes place, if we let it, and don’t keep plastering over our wounds? Left to the workings of nature, our sites of loss so often turn out to be openings to the sacred.