This postcard features a painting I created a few years ago from a trip to California, where I visited Yosemite National Park, and Muir Woods. The original is quite large, and the medium is watercolor painting, with very detailed graphite pencil work layered on top.

Being a lover of trees, I was very taken with the giant redwoods on that trip, which some years later became the setting for my fiction story The Turquoise Heart. So, the painting and the story became closely tied together. In the story, the protagonist 14-year-old Anna makes the observation to her mentor Elsu that the trees in the forest they are walking through look like a family.

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“Elsu, did you notice that group of trees that we just passed? There were many very tall ones, plus a giant one like the one I hid in. They stood in a circle with their branches reaching out to each other, and there was a little tree in the middle. It was almost like they were holding hands and protecting it. They looked like a family.”

“Very good observation! You are not just imagining they are a family. They really ARE one.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Trees communicate with each other underground through their roots and fungi. They have their own intelligence. For their survival, they have learned to cooperate, not just with each other, but with other tree species, too. They are very community-minded.

“Trees share space so they will all hopefully get some sunlight. They also produce sap that feeds the fungi, which in turn feeds sugar back to other surrounding trees. That little tree you noticed is actually being nourished by the big trees. It is all one big family in the forest.”

This weekend I am offering a free copy of The Turquoise Heart if you are interested in reading it. The free download link is here.

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The Trees Weep

The willow weeps,
the pine trees moan,
all Nature’s feeling it,
deep to the bone.

Humans out of sync,
not hearing their hearts,
the soul of the Earth’s
being torn apart.

“Technology’s call
mesmerized them all,
and why can’t they see,
their hate is a wall?”

The mountains watch,
their strength eons old,
the oceans too have
seen centuries unfold.

They will endure, but
will humans be here?
“It seems they don’t care,
they don’t hold us dear.”

The eleventh hour
draws swiftly nigh,
trees watch us, crying,
will this be goodbye?

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© Susan L Hart 2025