At the planting, I played Madre de Dios from the Cantigas de Santa Maria on Janet's wooden C flute, a song that the flute had sung perhaps a thousand times, but perhaps never so poorly. But it seemed right.
Annabeth Hinderling, whose daughter Leia was a long time student of Janet's, read this poem.
WHEN I AM AMONG TREES
by Mary Oliver
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks, and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,”
they say, “and you, too, have come
into the world to do this, to go easy,
to be filled with light, and to shine.”
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