I planted my feet on the ground and leaned back into the old chestnut oak, placing my hands between my back and its bark. I slowed my breath and closed my eyes and let the back of my head rest on the rough skin.
And I rested.
After a brief time, I opened my eyes and the world was shimmering. Not sparkly or shiny but somehow more fractal, a bit brighter, prismatic like a painting by Chuck Close.
And then my sacrum clunked with a jolt. Shifted as if a chiropracter had adjusted it. But it was deep and strong and it happened again. Strong enough to make me gasp, not from pain, but from the suddenness. And again, and again.
I turned and faced the tree, placed my hands on the trunk and looked closely at the bark. Energy surged through my arms and the tree breathed like a bellows, expanding and contracting in rhythmic waves of circular motion.
I think this tree likes me.