Tag: tree

Come sit awhile under my shade in a quiet corner of the churchyard. Breathe deeply the aroma ofmy sweet fermenting berries; relax as wood nymphs and faeries dance on the edge of yourvision, as your thoughts mingle with your dreams.Take my bark, my wood, my leaves or my berries, make medicine or poison; your choice.But save my trunk for the master bowyer; for when the King calls, the longbow is all that will standbetween you and ruin.…

You will find me drinking at the banks of flowing streams, my memories rushing from me to the sea.Chew my young twigs to clear your head – remember, I invented aspirin.My pliable branches made your baskets and your fish-traps before England was an island. Later, I made gunpowder to defend or overthrow our people.  How strange, then, that I am best and far most widely known for defending not your heads from pain, or your bellies…

What would England be without me? Your navy were once called ‘The wooden walls of England’. But would those walls have kept the French and Spaniards at bay if it weren’t for my timber that clad the ships and protected  the live hearts beating safe within.Stout hearted with a broad reach, I grow bigger and live longer than any honest tree in the realm.What child doesn’t know the wavy shape of my leaves, what man…

I like to feed the robins in winter; the colder the winter, the more berries I will wear. I’m the guardian of the forest whilst the other trees take their winter sleep; bringing a surge of welcome colour into a grey world.What house is not cheered by my greens and reds over the winter solstice, and doors hung with wreathes at Christmas?I make an impenetrable fence in a hedgerow and my crown is often left…

I am the tree of knowledge, where the dormice choose to sleep. My magical protection makes the best wands and water diviners. My wood can be bent and knotted for neighbourly fences or dried for strong walking sticks – though leave your stick in fertile ground and find a tree when you return.Perhaps most importantly, stir your breakfast jam with a stick of hazel and it’ll never be stolen by fairies.  What I mark, I…

I am the May Tree; my sweet, white blossoms herald the end of winter. People go gathering knots of my branches in May, to crown the season’s queen. I have no grand airs, no impressive visage, and yet I keep a secret grace: find me in any hedgerow, but beware – my thorns make barriers enough to protect many merry songbirds from interruption as they sing to herald the waking of the spring. Designed and…