A few weeks back Sam and I visited the big Sequoias – planted near Railway Dam, at the heart of the Belair National Park,  in about 1895.

The Park was our boyhood realm of long ago – the family kingdom – and every square inch of it is therefore familiar.

We were not so much visiting, as returning….

The Sequoias are massive trees, of breath-taking height. Their topmost canopies seem to brush the heavens, and the spiralling branches invite further exploration. They remind me of the fabled Mallorn Trees of Lothlorien, at the top of which the elven-folk built their secret pathways and aerial homes.

For some years I have been keeping a weather-eye out for Mallorn seeds, in the hope of establishing a grove of  silvery and golden saplings next to the Boatshed.

It is, as the saying goes,  a work in progress.

As for the Sequoias: they tower above the ancient bushland all around. They seem ancient, but they are not;  they seem to belong – but after all, their true homeland is far away, on the western sea-board of California.

I have an idea that each twig, each leaf retains a subtle recollection of its original home: its inheritance – and the knowledge, or knowing, is somehow passed on from one generation of leaves to the next. It must surely  be so, even if the recollection lies beyond our ken….

high-up branches
on the lookout
for ancestors