If you are visiting Dryburgh Abbey, we were told, you must check out the yew tree.
Apparently, this tree was planted in the reign of King David I. It is thought to be around 900 years old.
The problem is - it's not very impressive. And there are some truly monumental trees around it. When I first saw it, I didn't see it. I saw it's bigger neighbour and thought that was it.
When a friend asked me what I thought, I erred on the side of kindness and said, "It's quite humble compared to the others." Then I thought, and added, "But, of course... it watched them grow up."
My friend, who had worked in the abbey grounds many years before (and used to look for excuses to be in the yew's vicinity) appreciated this. "Yeah, it's almost like you have to walk past it, then turn and look again to even realise it's there."
The line struck me as almost mystical.
Having identified it, I tried to photograph my sweetheart in front of it. Eventually... I just gave up. There seemed to be no good way to take that photo.
It was a notion Jo Woolf, the writer in residence for the Royal Scottish Geographical Society, agreed with. In her blog thehazeltree.co.uk she wrote, " I always despair when I try to photograph yew trees. They seem to have no beginning and no end, no defined edges and no recognisable shape. It’s almost as if they are embracing the infinite in every possible way!"
The Dryburgh Yew seems to have mastered that art!
So... hard to find but actually quite easy to see, embracing the infinite but difficult to frame, less majestic than its companions but having watched over them all their lives...
If there was an element of the divine in the world (whatever you think that to be) it would surely have similar attributes.
Write about the times you had to turn back and look again to see what was quite obviously there all along.
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