“It speaks for itself – quietly.”
So says the visitors' leaflet at
Batsford Arboretum, home to many beautiful trees. My wife and I went for an
autumn walk there today.
The place is effulgent with luminous yellows, burnished
oranges and blazing reds, as well as some residual cool greens among the tall beeches and firs.
It is also, as the leaflet promised, quiet – apart from tinkling streams that criss-cross through the wooded paths.
“It speaks for itself – quietly.” That, I thought, is quite a good summary of what creation does. It speaks, but quietly, on the whole.
Not just in the glory of beech and acer; also in the perseverance of dandelion; the brilliance of carapace; the patience of moss; the humility of grass; the mystery of mist; the utility of worm; the logic of branch; the humour of mushroom; the mischief of cloud; the wistfulness of water; the playfulness of bamboo; the security of sunlight; the equanimity of dog; the cleverness of cat; the generosity of sky...
I need to shut up and listen.