I want to introduce you to a friend of mine, a certain ivy-twined tree that I pass almost daily as I make my way through a little alleyway en route to the village. Its size makes the walkway shady and its leaves make a mess on the path when they fall and become hazardously slippery when wet, but I can forgive all that. What’s a little jeopardy amongst friends? Those of us who walk past regularly know to tread carefully.
I have always had a soft spot for a bit of ivy. It holds a mystique that draws me into its tangled vines and catches me in its rich tradition and lore. Its spiraling, pliable vines hold symbolic meaning throughout the world, and ivy is sometimes used to bring peace to a household, and as a symbol of the Goddess and the Divine Feminine.
I saw my stately friend surrounded by men with hard hats and chain saws yesterday, and I found myself worrying about her for the rest of the day, unsure of her fate. By this morning, I could wait no longer and went around for a visit; I’m happy to report that her branches have merely been trimmed, and this lovely tree is now all spruced up for spring.