Birching day

So, the news is that I have these HRT patches. The whole thing sounds rather complicated and I haven't read the leaflet yet. Could be worse than the camera, which I still can't work and I keep putting off calling the shop as I think they will say, you bought the wrong one and now you've used it we won't etc etc. I should call them. I am writing this before you read it [Well, obviously. - Ed] [I mean a long time before. - Crone] so I can still call them. Ok, I'll call them.

Anyway, turns out that birch trees might be helpful at this time of life. Funnily enough, the birch rune is sometimes read as poplar and it is about transformation.

On my trot, I saw a birch, this one, in the pocket park by the church and went in.

One of the things that bothers me is that I never passed through "Mother". At least, not in the way that's usually meant. As in, pregnancy, parturition, 30 years with a parasite and so on. Isn't that experience fundamental? some kind of sine qua non of womanhood? What is it to be a Crone without having been a Mother?

The tree was like, "Well, you don't have to generate humans. You could generate anything."

And I'm like, "Ideas? But, look, the idea of an atom bomb wasn't a great idea, was it? The idea of shit TV shows like that baking competition can't get St Peter frantically grabbing his keys to let you through them pearly gates."

The tree, "Guess so."

Me, "Right. So you're not much help then."

Tree, silence. Cold shoulder.

Me, "OK, fair enough. Have some suet pellets and peanuts for your birds and squirrels."

Tree, silence.

Me, "Sorry."

Tree, "Remember: it's not about forgiveness, it's about compassion."

Me, "Is that you being compassionate?"

Tree, silence.

While I was sitting there, a squirrel got so bored of watching me from their branch that they stretched out like a cat and washed their face with their paws. Like a cat. A robin flew around me, to see if I were going to do any gardening. A tit went into a nest box and came out again. A blackbird attacked a patch of ivy. Repeatedly.

Look. I like birch trees [Some readers don't. - Ed] [So? - Crone] [Just sayin'. - Ed] but I guess I feel more at home with the oaks. Birches just seem like Maidens to me. Oaks. Now they are wise. Purely subjective. Or not. Maybe the landscape and the plants are not lacking agency. Maybe they indigenize us by creating value and meaning in us. Maybe the world acts and we respond to those actions. Maybe we need to listen to what the world is saying. Even if, some of the time, at least, it's not entirely helpful.