Just Move
an Invitation to Trees and Fall
"And all at once, summer collapsed into fall." - Oscar Wilde
If my relationship with fall were a Facebook status, it might be labeled “complicated.” The months of fall hold birthdays, anniversaries and reminders of grief, loss, and trauma. I was born in fall and also died there in ways I still keep silent about. My body and my heart hold it all. And they often tell me long before my mind registers the date, that the emotions are there longing to be—at the very least—acknowledged.
This fall, which officially begins for the northern hemisphere on September 22, feels different. I’m not entirely sure why. In some ways I feel a hope that is more common with spring. In others I feel an anxiousness that is as much about my own path as it is that of this country, both of which are interconnected with that of the world. “Equinox” comes from Latin and means “equal night.” Twice a year the lengths of day and night are the equal. Perhaps a sacred reminder of the delicate, rare, and awesome nature of balance in our lives and in creation.
I long to understand the end of summer as less of a collapse and more of an emergence. Although, I am not sure what is and what exactly I’m wanting to emerge.
Last Sunday, I had the honor of sharing a poem with a church that is dear to my heart. Newburg United Methodist Church in Livonia, Michigan commissioned me to write a new poem and to read it in worship as they began a fall sermon series on the Book of Psalms.
The poem was inspired by the very first psalm and a tree planted by the Detroit River, one that I pass regularly on my walks. As I sat on a bench near this tree doodling words and ideas on a scrap of paper, I thought to myself, this tree will change soon. And I took a photo with my phone to capture the moment. And I thought, I want to capture the changes. I want to pay attention to the details. To notice the subtleties and intricacies. To watch the tree at different times of day. To learn from the tree and their surroundings. I sat at the tree again last night around sunset. Noticing colors I hadn’t just days before.
So, for this season, Wednesdays at the Well, will be a place to share poetry about trees, the season of fall, transition, hanging on and letting go, surrender and embrace. It will also feature photos of the tree in hopes that the changes in them will inspire change and growth in us all.
Scroll down to read the poem. And/or listen to me read it on the video below. After you read or listen maybe there’s a tree calling your name, asking for attention, inviting you to reflection. What’s keeping you from listening to their voice? To just move a little?
Water-fully Yours,
Rebecca & 10 Camels
Just Move
©Rebecca Wilson. September 14, 2024
what does it mean to be a tree planted by a stream of living water
a psalmist says, it means that we shall not be moved
we shall, we shall, we shall not be moved
but shall we, should we, could we
what would be if we did move even a sway
a small step to the right or to the left
just a little away from the middle
excuse me, my smart watch is buzzing
telling me it’s time to move
that I better get my groove on if I’m gonna reach 10,000 steps today
the psalms are smart too
what if we listen to what they have to say about how we move throughout our day
frost would say there are 2 paths
the one more and the one less taken
the psalms say the paths are plenty
the psalms—like life—are a journey documenting the movements of many
maybe you have a favorite psalm
tattooed on your palm, memorized or underlined
written out on a note card on your desk
or held by a magnet on the side of your fridge
psalm 23: my grandma taught me this
psalm 27: god is our light and salvation, whom shall we fear
psalm 91: god is our refuge the one we trust
psalm 121: we must lift our eyes to the hills, our help comes from there
psalm 131: god, like a mother calms our soul
psalm 136: god’s mercies forever endure
psalm 139: we are fearfully, wondrously made
psalm 150: we are whole when we bring our whole selves into this sanctuary
maybe you’ve never heard of a psalm
aren’t sure where to find one
have no frame of reference for shepherds and sheep
are a little uneasy about being known before you were born
and a spirit who moves while we sleep
maybe you’re still wondering
what does it mean to be a tree planted by a stream of living water
as I’ve moved I’ve come to believe we can move and be still simultaneously
stillness can move us unexpectedly
trees that shall not be moved are not entirely still
they are filled with faith and with strength
they bend and might even break
they regrow in miraculous ways
they are willing to change
acknowledge the pain they feel and the harm they’ve caused
their generations are unending
their roots eternally spreading
they understand the oxygen they release helps others breathe
they know they need you and me to be healthy for we to succeed
they recognize they began with a seed that someone else nourished and watered
they care about clean, safe, affordable water and food and shelter for others
they share their berries without conditions
their shade has no borders
when the church tells some of us we don’t belong
their branches turn to home
their leaves fade into pews
the wind becomes their song and their trunk rings with good news
I worshipped there when no one else would have me
they remind us creation began in a garden
eden is their name
inviting us over to play and to pray
to sit and get comfy
to get messy in the dirt and muddy in the soil
to bear fruit, to rest after we toil
to not resist seasons of transition
to immerse ourselves in holiness and sacredness
mysteries and possibilities surrounding us
to cherish the journey wherever it leads
to cultivate and share delight
to just move or even be open to moving a muscle, a mile
maybe start with trying one seat over
oh, the ways we might be surprised when we see with our hearts
and love with our eyes
move not only our feet, but also our minds
envisioning this sanctuary as an extension of eden
blooming with goodness and glory
scripture as a river, flowing with story
ourselves as trees planted by streams
I admit I chose a path I didn’t want to take
and that has made all the difference
moving me away from everything I’d ever known
moving me closer to who I was born—and for so long so afraid—to be
moving us to god’s heartbeat and our own
to a rhythm that moves us all into relation
with ourselves, each other and creation
singing yes, we shall, we shall, we shall all be moved
Great metaphors! I have had a love affair with/ of trees since I was little. I seek them out. I take picture of them. I even used to paint them. I went thru a purple fade and painted the trees purple. Trees like life constantly changing. Always a newness. XO Cheryl W