A few months ago, along with some friends, we went to keep a big tree company.
An apparently useless gesture, a tree doesn’t speak, doesn’t hear…
What is the point of sitting there without doing anything near the tree?
But are we sure it don’t hear? About two hundred years old tree, like what we went to visit a few months ago, certainly doesn’t deserve the indifference of the cars passing by, without anyone listening to it. A big oak that almost becomes a problem for those who must spit it. It’s been there for two hundred years and now, for us contemporaries, is a burden?
Instead it’s a gift of the time.
A big tree has a memory. And, I’m convinced, in a way, it has an own sensitivity. Where did the slight joy come from, when we were around the tree? Maybe from the glass of wine we drank together. But wine reveals the deep part and it shows poetic energy, like the tree of Diego Valeri’s poetry: the clouds moved by the wind, the shaky sea on the horizon, yet it doesn’t lose his calm, it seems indifferent, the tree looks beyond our lives.
There has been with us a book of the writer of Marche Paolo Volponi: we have a literary idea of nature: harmony, beauty, or wild instinct if we think of animals. Nature is not a mere tool to profit by: Pope Francis has written interesting things about it.
A new culture can be born alongside a large centuries-old plant.
Wise men bring their spirit like a flower, wrote literature Nobel prize Elias Canetti.
And the 200-year-old tree how many people’s actions saw around him? Departures of Garibaldi’s volunteers, of young soldiers towards the Piave in World War I, return of emigrants, boys by motorcycles going to the sea, old peasants who go to the market to sell chickens, eggs and rabbits. And finally someone’s stopping and listening to him!