STORY-TELLING: Spooky Trees & Tales

I love a spooky tree. 🌳

Every now and again, 

nature present's a few spooky tree's,  branches sprawled, 

a bit weird,

a bit extra terristerial.

Found one once in Clare.

It even had a sign, 

and it's location was in the middle of the walkway and woods, 

but covered by dense dark forestry.

That was it's name - The Spooky Tree.

It it in this region.

So every now again, I seek out a spooky tree.

There was another near a farmer land near Marl Bog in Tipp.

Another white spooky tree, 

standing alone, 

standing out,

green hedges and bushes stretched out for a few yards,

and then, 

a spooky, dead tree.

Sprawled outwards.

Different coloured to life ones.

Electrified tree's are petrified tree's.

Spooky.

Dead.

Powerful.

Colossal in size.

Quiet.

Dead.

Stopped in time.

Silent.

Something stopping about them.

A reminder?

No life in some of those spooky tree's anymore, 

except those of life around it who attend it's once upon a time presence.

Echoey! 

A echo and rememnant of a once great, 

live, and alive giving tree.

Now left to fade and rot and decay and just standing there. 

Like a tree ghost but visible.

But frozen in time.

There was a HUGE sprawling alive spooky tree in Killarney national park.

Those tree's invite you.

You're inner child.

To touch it,

it's sprawling huge collossal long arms and branches.

Still alive, still full of life, life giving, growing.

It's energy life giving.

It require's admiration.

It carries unseen but felt forces of old and energy 

It was spooky but less because it was alive.

Alive is life.

Friendly.

Gigantic.

Strong and hard.

Tall.

Playful and life giving.

Octopuss stretched out arms.

An old elderly Irish giant on the landacape.

Guarding it.

Minding it.

Protecting it.

Watching it.

Passed through ages you would never know if not only through history, stories or tv.

Carrying those energies.

Carrying spirit.

Reminding you of life and childhoods and respect and size, and potentials.

Spooky but alive spooky.

More powerful than eery spooky tree's that were no longer growing or living or alive.

Live tree's of force.

Of memories.

Of aliveness.

Of energy.

I came across another old collossal tree in Holychurch, Tipp.

You discovered it.

Or it called and discovered you.

This is the pic. I can't find the one's I took.

But it was massive.

Larger, sprawlier than this.

You'd to find it.

Or it called you to find it.

Collossal.

Electrified and broken open and split into many part's, and alive.

Not dead.

I like to think of it as a Jesus tree.

A resurrection tree.

A tree who's main trunk was blasted open,

and out of that tree sprouted and grew and came all other life and forms and still were continuing on and adding to that blasted, spread open, spiral, wide across the grounds, tree.

It took up soo much space.

And it was a reminder.

Of life and death.

The main vine.

Smaller vines.

The glory of it standing there.

Erect and strong and tall.

And all the other green shrubbery, 

happy young tree's,

growing out of it.

From it. 

Apart of it.

Connected.

Unioned.

And one.

Another not spooky tree but a flowing life one.

Another quiet, patient tree that didn't speak power. 

It just was.

Otherworldly.

Next to a flowing river, 

but this tree, 

it's size, 

it's force, 

it's activity,

drowned out all the the other sound's.

A Peace Tree. 

Magical.

Captivating.

Dreamy.

Otherwordly.

Godly, of God. 

Not idolism.

There's another dead one in Castleconnell.

I call it the murder tree.

Like this one but taller.

Longer.

It crept up on me.

I hated that.

Crept up and startled and spooked me.

One minute I was alive and happy and trying to relax and sitting by the flowing river.

Looking one way.

Toward's peace and life.

The next I looked over my shoulder and it was quiet. 

Dead. Creepy down and looking at me. Behind my shoulder and view.

The tree.

Making my spot and way and being of happiness, forced uncomfortable.

Dead and white and tall and a reminder of dead things.

Ungrowing.

Intimidating.

Ungrowing.

Stopped.

Out of place for the spot of beauty I was in and at.

But also, so quiet, it carried something.

Not it.

That particular spot.

Like Goosebumps. 

Tails From The Crypt.

Vulnerability.

A spot of vulnerability.

Eery.

Energy carrying.

Quiet or deadly.

Too quiet.

Uncomfortable quiet.

And it was like a an-alive reminder, 

of potential and vulnerability. Disaster.

That spot.

That area particularly.

It was sunny & bright one minute.

Next it wasn't.

That spot that the once upon alive tree, 

now dead, 

stands looking down on.

Looking at.

Stand's witness to.

The event's and people passing by.

Stand's at.

Crossroad's energy carries there.

'Will I, won't I?'

It carries thought's like that there.

That area, and spot.

The vulnerabiity spot.

'Will I, won't I', what?

I walk there a few times.

Great and good walk.

That spot always wake's me up.

If it's a bit dark or late or spooky, I run!

I run away from that area and spot.

Not allowing vulnerability.

Not focusing on the dark energy for dark potential.

I run.

I escape it.

It's doubt.

It's potential for mayham.

For badness.

Vulnerable mischief.

The energy there in that spot needs to be blessed.

Or affronted.

A lurker need's confronting or named or identified.

I can imagine lover's meeting there for seclusion.

A romp.

Private.

But there's power in number's.

Protection.

'We're 2 or 3 gather in my name, there also so shall I be.'

Sometime's, danger's aren't human.

They are the potential to be human.

Or maybe it's a spot of exploration & discovery.

It carries a memory.

The last tree and this area near Birdhill carries the most miraculous energy for me.

I was having a moment of doubt.

I went off eploring, admiring nature.

I came across a tree.

The tree was gigantic. 

Again, octopuss gigantic arms, sprawly, spreading out.

Reaching. Stretching.

I witnessed a vision here.

For my life.

My hill looking out at my ancestors hills.

I knew what it was showing me and wanted me to do.