Time flies. Time waits for no one. Time will tell. Time marches on. All in good time.
I don’t have time. I have nothing but time. Time in. Time out.

There is no such thing as time. 

Portraits of Time.

Time is countless summer suns beating down upon the land. Time is our strictest teacher, the most knowledgeable mentor. Time is the trunk that splits apart to accommodate strong winds. To see time through the ages is to appreciate the furrowed bark of an ancient tree, gnarled, crooked and windswept.

The relationship between trees and time is a union of element and form. Shape is created as the wind sculpts and caresses the bark, whittling paths like twisted streets on a foreign map, defining hardship and beauty. This is natures design in harmony. Their presence is a survival of compassion.

The wisdom of the earth manifests itself in the trees. These ancient trees belong to the earth and the cool winds that pass through them; they are keepers of silence, experts at tranquility. They live and grow in a state of grace with a tenacious grip on serenity.

Solitude.

Such are the past times of trees; to sit in solitude experiencing the shifting light across the land as dawn turns into dusk, to listen to the wind and hear the voices of the meadowlarks, to accommodate the calm and quiet landscape. These acts of repetition are never perceived as boring, for subtle shifts in form loom large before the trained attention of the trees. This attention inspires the slow art of patience. To see slowness over time is to understand its capacity to transform; for perfection can be found in the evolutionary path of an acorn.

They tell the story of our past. They tell the story of our future.

Perhaps this is why we love the trees so much. They are our tangible response to light and silence. We can learn something from the soulful existence of the oldest trees; respect in the face of creation, honor in the presence of the Divine, and wisdom of the people who do not forget our kinship with nature.

Because they are here, we are here.

The sacred heart of Britain beats through the soul of its oldest trees. We tend to think of these arboreal gifts as infinite but progress in the material world has taken a toll. Before 1940 there were 1,000 trees aged 1,000 years or more in the United Kingdom. Today there are less than half.

This time won’t come again. This is all there is.

In an imagination where lines are thinly drawn, one can see the trees as astonishing formations taking on remarkable shapes, recreating themselves with time; a weeping shrine, a cathedral, a shrouded cave, a holy relic, a fortress equipped with an iron slide lock.

Vast gnarled trunks varnished through time. The eroded areas are as richly compelling as the areas that remain, crooked, weathered, and beautiful. Through the weathering of the wood, the trees vulnerability is exposed, inviting succession not unlike our own. As time passes through our bodies, weathering our spirit and abrading our soul, we are vulnerable, but just as time makes us vulnerable, it also makes us strong.

For those who do know and love these trees and the transformative powers they possess will know of which I write. For those of you who have not experienced the sublime nature of ancient trees, let these images be a joyous reminder of the remarkable works of God in nature, remembering that humanity is part of nature as we evolve together.

We are not so different.