The Trees of Hampstead Heath
Our pagan ancestors attributed human emotion and psychological identity to every aspect of the natural world. Even today foxes are clever, snakes are treacherous, lions are brave and owls are wise. Steady as a rock or heart of oak, it makes no difference. In Druidic, Celtic and Viking times the sacred groves of oak, ash, holly, yew, birch and sycamore were revered locations of council, synod and congress. We know we all must die one day, but hope our ancient woodlands will go on. In these images of the historic oaks of Hampstead Heath, in North London, we see this solitude, this drama and this psychological turmoil embedded in each of these primal forms. Nothing has changed. Some are in full flight, arms outstretched, imploring us for absolution. Others are arthritic veterans of endurance in the eternal race for life. What could they tell us of Jerusalem and Carthage, the Armada and the English Civil War, of political trauma and social restoration. They witness our arrival in this world, and our departure for the next. We raise our children beneath their spreading canopies.. They protect us from storm and hurricane. Our elders were interred among their fallen leaves. They witnessessed all that brought us to this moment in our lives.
