Tree sounds

How do you capture sounds in words? And not just any sounds, like ah-choo or bang or pop. I’m talking about the sounds my five-month-old daughter makes lying under her trees.

 Aaa-ee!

Wha-ah!

The short, high-pitched squeal. The long, drawn-out sigh of delight.

How does one truly translate these precious sounds, these incredible moments, to the written word? It’s eluding me.

Her eyes dart from one branch to another. I lay beside her, imagining how she sees these giants. How she experiences the breeze on her face, the light filtering through the leaves, the rustling above, the firm ground below. If she recognizes the expansiveness of time in this moment, or if that's just me.

She smiles at me. And she smiles at the trees. They must be smiling back at her.

The ash with her abundant progeny; the sweet willow swaying in the breeze; the majestic cottonwood reaching into the sky; the nearby aspens shimmering in the sunlight.

Fghaa. Ahhhh-aa!

Yes, they must be smiling back at her.

P.S. I've journaled every day since my daughter was born, both for her and for me. A ritual that I am very proud of and humbled to do. And I will never be able to capture all that occurs each day or all the thoughts and emotions coursing through me, especially now as she makes giant leaps seemingly every day. The journaling, while consistent, does not always lead to more focused or expansive writing. I had thought I would be able to share a similar collection of short pieces like I did earlier this year, but it seems this short essay above is all that is ready for the world. A lightness, a grounding, for the world that is crying out. Wherever and however this finds you, please remember that you are enough.

With love and gratitude - Alyson