"In earth she stood, white thighs embraced by climbing bark, her white arms branches, her fair head swaying in a cloud of leaves; all that was Daphne bowed in the stirring of the wind, the glittering green leaf entwined within her hair and she was laurel."

        - Ovid's Metamorphoses "Apollo and Daphne"

The assignment we were given on Monday, which requires us to hug a tree, is probably one of the most wonderful tasks I have ever been given in any class. It will not be the first tree I've ever hugged; that actually took place this last summer in Yosemite National Park, when I went walking through the Sequoias.

They are enormous, these beautiful rust-colored trees, and they look like they go up for miles above your head. They were one of the most magnificent things I have ever seen, almost like wise giants or old beings from some myth that had been there for centuries, guarding, watching, waiting, protecting. So I wrapped my arms around one of the huge bases, pressed my cheek against the rough bark, and listened. I'm not sure what I expected to hear, but I suppose I wanted there to be a heartbeat because they seemed so, so alive. Ancient and old, like elders who could tell wonderful and terrible stories about all the things they've seen.

One of my closest friends calls me a tree. Whether it's because I'm long and willowy, or because I've always loved them, I'm not sure. The story of Daphne has always been one of my favorites; this last fall I had the opportunity to see Bernini's wonderful depiction of her escaping Apollo's embrace, forever captured in marble.

Tree stories, Grandmother Willow, The Giving Tree, dryads, the aspen grove from my childhood campsite on the Boulder River - all of this rings deeply within me.The tree that just a few months ago saved my brother's life.

The trees in Bozeman are beautiful. I can't wait to see which one will be the next one I hug.