Sacred Groves

One more blossom and our apple tree will surely fall to the ground from the weight.  Yesterday morning I looked out the window and was actually startled to see the tree in suddenly full and glorious bloom. They came in all through the night I think, under the proverbial cover of darkness.

The more I see of trees the less I know.  The ancients of Greece often referred to a sacred grove and I once was foolish enough to think this meant a particular grove: maybe here, maybe there.  Perhaps the one down by the river or the one holding court on the highest hill.  Did the oracle call out her prophecies from a forest hidden deep in the high valley, inaccessible to all but the truly chosen?

Nothing sacred about that little patch of trees down by the shopping mall, squeezed between this road and there?  Or... that scraggly group of locusts waiting to be cut down as soon as the nearby construction site under way is finished?  Or those six or seven pines holding steady on the less-than-scenic spot by the local recycling center...ridiculous to even think such a place could be sacred.. isn't it?