The elephant tree
A large beech tree trunk with a bow curved up like an elephant’s trunk. There are beech nuts on the floor and other green trees and leaves in the background.
I was a beech tree in a former life, which is why I am confident in asserting that this beech tree was once an elephant. I asked her if she minded being a tree, so far away from the savannahs and grasslands of her African home. She said she didn’t mind it so much, as a different kind of forest was also once her home. I am not so sure about that, because the forest spirit of Epping has mostly gone, and where it remains, it is angry, anxious, and in pain. So I wonder how much time the forest, and this tree, has left.
I went to hug her trunk to show her the love I could feel she was missing. When I did so, I saw with utter clarity her life before this one on the plains. I knew then that, contrary to what she said, my suspicions were correct and deep down she longed to go back home. Next to her on that golden plain, pressed up beside her in love, was her baby. Its trunk feeling the side of her body, reaching for her face, the way my face rested against her now. I could feel the love she had for her child and how free they both were, under the sun.
When I walked away, a leaf fell down and booped me on my nose, the way I boop my cat when she is looking at me with a beautiful open expectation. I knew the tree loved me then, the way she had once loved her child; and I knew, too, that I was also her child, albeit one who had been birthed by a different tree: Isobel.
I am not sure what is wrong with Epping Forest. Perhaps it is the proximity to London, or that too many people take from her bounty without a thought for the life which truly needs it. All I know is that it is a sad and lonely place if you are the kind of person who knows how to listen to trees. Who has tendrils which spread out and about as they walk…
I do not know what to do about that, either. Should we walk more so that we might kiss and appreciate the denizens of Epping Forest, thereby coaxing the forest spirit into trusting us again? Or should we leave the forest in peace until it feels safe once more and returns in a fullness? I am not sure.
All I know is that that tree was once an elephant, and it is not being honest with itself when it says it doesn’t miss home. I guarantee you that when she and I next meet, when I am on life five or six after this, and she on her next, she will finally be free again on golden plains to swim at dusk, sleep in shade, and dance in the protective embrace of her sisters.
Listen to me read The elephant tree: