The Power of Listening

Not all trees want to talk. Today I went to Western Park. At the entrance there is a striking Norfolk Pine that towers over the other trees. I walked over to where it stands majestically and gazed up into the layered symmetrical branches. I could smell the piney scent. It reminded me of the Pacific Ocean beaches of my childhood, lined with Norfolk Pines. I looked down and saw the long needles dropped on the ground – my brother and I used to have sword fights with these spiky but soft fronds - pretty harmless! I stepped off the path, stood among the roots and leaned my back against the trunk. The bark looked even but felt rough under my t-shirt. I tentatively asked if the tree wanted to talk. Come back later it said. Ok I thought, that’s fine. I wasn’t sure anyway, I had really come to see the big old Pōhutukawa tree I spoke with last week.

I set off down the path winding around the edge of the park. At the bottom I stopped by one of the Pōhutukawa trees near the children’s playground, attracted by its graceful branches swooping down nearly to ground level. I had seen many children climbing in these over the years, including our own grandchildren. I walked around the tree, noticing the deep layer of mulch beneath. It had a feeling of being nourished. Then I became aware of the sound of singing. Auckland Girls’ Grammar School borders Western Park. A pure and resonant melody came wafting across the park. The Pasifika students practicing for an upcoming festival. I realised the tree was listening. I stayed and listened too. It made me feel happy and I sensed the tree felt happy as well. This tree didn’t want or need anything from me. It had no desire to engage with me. A shared experience sufficed for both of us.

The singing abated and I continued on my way. I hadn’t had much luck talking with trees so far today. I wondered whether “my city tree” would be receptive. Would it still be angry? As I came around the corner of the path and its gnarly old branches came into view I felt a sense of anticipation, like meeting up with a new friend who you haven’t spent much time with, but already know you enjoy each other’s company. As I approached the tree, I felt welcomed. I climbed up into the nook between its trunks in the late afternoon sun. As I did so I noticed the bark was teeming with life – spiderwebs, little insects, moss. I hadn’t noticed this last time, it had felt a bit bereft of companionship of other creatures and plants, unlike our Waiheke tree where life abounds. But there was actually plenty of life around this city tree. There were other trees quite close by, not just the oak I had noticed last time. There were grasses and shrubs in the gully just below and birds flying through the branches above. The sun felt warm and the soil beneath was freshly moistened by the rain earlier today.

City tree and surrounds JF 18 March 2025

Then the tree said, I’m sorry I was so angry last time. I felt pent up and you were an easy target. I don’t often get the opportunity to express myself to you humans. But it wasn’t fair, you are not responsible for all the human actions that have impacted me and those around me. You listen and I appreciate that. I’m glad you came back. I wanted to let you know that I’m actually very grateful for many things. The sun, the clouds that bring rain, the soil, my companions. Even you humans.

Just then a child’s high-pitched voice came chiming up the path. She came into view, skipping along, laughing clearly enjoying being in the park with her mama in tow. The mother saw me in the tree and frowned a little, as much to say, really what’s a grown woman like you doing in a tree, are you crazy? But the child was oblivious. The tree was quite entranced with the child and fell silent as she passed by, skipping and chittering all the way until she eventually went out of sight. I like children the tree said.

I remembered I had a question I wanted to ask. Someone had posted a note on Substack asking “What is a tree”. I had added a comment, maybe you could ask a tree. They said, trees are too slow (in their responses) so I’m asking Substack readers. I wasn’t so sure about that, but anyway, I thought I’d ask the tree on their behalf. What is a tree I ventured. A living thing came the ready reply, an expression of nature. I guess you could say a tree is a transformer as well – we use energy from the sun to transform water and air into growth. That’s right, I remembered something about this from Biology lessons at school – photosynthesis. Clever! We humans could learn from this – how could we live more in balance with nature? We take, take, take from nature to support our modern Western lifestyle. And still the billionaires want more. There must be a better way.

I didn’t ask the tree. I didn’t need to. It’s obvious that nature provides enough for all when the various elements are in harmony. Humans have lived this way for thousands of years in indigenous societies. It’s when we lose touch with our natural beingness and become human doings with aspirations beyond what nature can provide that things start to go wrong. When we become driven by desire rather than guided by need. When we separate ourselves from nature and forget our inter-dependence. Once again, the city tree has given me much to ponder on.

I paid my respects and said goodbye and continued up the path. At the top I spied an empty park bench overlooking the Norfolk Pine. I sat down with the late afternoon sun at my back. It was pleasant and I felt peaceful. The Norfolk Pine showed no inclination to talk and I was ok with that. I realised we were already engaged. There’s nothing wrong with silence – it’s communication too. And we were communing – we were exchanging the gases of the air, me with my breathing and the Norfolk and other trees nearby with their photosynthesis. We were transforming each other in our gaseous language, allowing and enabling growth and decay, just as nature intended. Wow!

Then another realisation – we humans have another transformative power. My city tree’s mood had changed dramatically from last week. From anger to gratitude. I had enabled that, simply by listening. I suddenly felt as though humans might matter on the planet. Do we have a secret power that makes a difference in nature that we have forgotten? We can transform emotions with our listening. Now there’s a gift worth having. And worth using wisely. Ha! Of course, my whole career was predicated on this … we know we can do it with each other. But the realisation other beings in the natural world may benefit from our listening, there’s a revelation.

And sometimes it’s enough to just sit in silence and breathe, or skip by like a child.