“Trees fall with spectacular crashes. But planting is silent and growth is invisible.”

I read these beautiful lines in one of the stories from The Overstory.

Trees have been my friends for a while now. My first memory of them is of a grand old Eucalyptus tree outside a church in the middle East. It was part of a cluster that provided shade under which I discovered books. A few years later, I would be lost in a grove of mango trees as a rebellious teen. Much later, I’d make friends with them on early morning runs. A few years ago, I started listening to their seasons from my balcony and now I touch their gruff trunks when I encounter their unhurried life as I rush through the days.

I’m lucky to live in a city that still has a fairly large green cover. My living space has plants that have wrapped themselves to the changed shape of my life. Living, adapting, growing and providing space to other lives. Perhaps, the munia’s nest in one of the pots will have little eggs in them by the time I return home. Gardening, planting and being one with the soil is deeply healing. It invites birdsong and flowers, fruits and music. Trees can make philosophers of anyone who stops to listen.

This book cropped up in many places and I finally got myself a copy on the Kindle. While I want to drink all of it at one go, the stories themselves are so like trees that I am reluctant to rush the reading. The prose reads like poetry and the stories are an intersection of the past, present and future. I was hooked from the very first couple of sentences. Pick it up if you haven’t already.

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