Writing under the chestnut tree. I feel protected and safe writing beneath the spacious canopy of the horse chestnut tree. It’s Autumn and conkers the size of golf balls hang heavy awaiting the next strong wind to release them to the ground.
Inside each conker is a dark brown horse chestnut. My friend told me that when he was was in England as a young boy they would put a hole through each brown chestnut once they had been in the oven to soften and play a game called conkers. They would also string them together to create a necklace.
Conkers is a traditional children’s game in Britain and Ireland using the seeds of horse chestnut trees—the name ‘conker’ is also applied to the seed and to the tree itself. The game is played by two players, each with a conker threaded onto a piece of string. They each they take turns striking each other’s conker until one of the conkers breaks. <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conkers>
I knew my writing place was to be under the horse chestnut tree. It’s taken some time for the magnificent tree to recognise I’m here and staying and a few weeks for us to inter species connect. I’ve come to name this royal, sentential-like protective tree Claridge. I harbour a wish that in time he, yes definitely a yang energy, will allow me to call him Clary in moments of shared intimacy and reciprocity.
The Well ‘n’ Happy flags are around his girth. It’s truly a blessing to write under this magnificent horse chestnut tree that is over 100 years old. I’ve been told that a well-known author once sat beneath this tree to write one summer.
photo credit: k.bell Masterton New Zealand