#Tree Symbolism

[littlepawz]

The tallest tree in Wales had been damaged by a storm and was supposed to be cut down, but chainsaw artist Simon O'Rourke found a better solution to symbolize the tree's last attempt to reach the sky.

[jungquote]

"The tree symbolizes something much higher and much deeper. It has a specifically transcendental character. The distance between man and animal is not very great; but between the tree and the animal is an infinite distance, so it is a more primitive and yet a more advanced symbol."

— C.G. Jung, 30 November 1938

[one-fourth-of-juice]

UGAAAAA-

Currently trying to research fig tree symbolism, and NOTHING is coming up that isn’t based around its symbolism in Christianity!

Like, YES it’s helpful to learn about this one specific part of its symbolism, but what about LITERALLY EVERYTHING ELSE?

Sick of reading about its ties to the Old Testament! Need to read about figs and their relationships with ANY OTHER RELIGION TOO!

[vampiricalxdata]

The life beneath my skin

bleeds out

from these new legs

and my heart

beats in the space entwined

by our fingers and palms

breathing

with the walls of this room;

It’s me and you—

your soul too willingly offered

and my neck chained

to a cage

built with a guise

of friendship

and the effacement

of an old regret;

Buried like a curse

our tell tale memory lurks

under floor boards

for the next generation

of naivety:

a still learning boy

and his soon to be

tragic misstep.

“The maple wood house and its magnolia tree” - AXI

[gawdforthelovers]

tree symbolisms

if anyone has any sources on tree symbolisms, particularly backed by ancient/pre industrial ideals and mythologies, please let me know! can be a blog, website, newsletter, book, primary source, whatevaa! im doing a paper on beloved :}

[hanssloane]

- Della Hooke

[loveletterworm]

This drawing isn't very literal...cuz that wouldn't really make any sense at all...

[ro-bee]

order

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Maximilian Lenz (1860-1948) "A Song of Spring" (1913) Symbolism

[aqua-regia009]

The last beech ― Emilia Castañeda Martínez (Spanish, b.1943)

https://emiliacastaneda.com/

[crumboatt]

lmfaooo imagine eating bugs what a loser

the line art bc im really happy w how it turned out!!

[staracket]

more deer alex for the soul

[prettyiwa]

Relationship: Sakura Haruka x GN!Reader Content Tags: Post-Canon, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Realization of feelings, Switching POVs Summary: Sakura's cut his own hair for as long as he can remember, so it surprises him a little when you express interest in giving him his next haircut. Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: I think there's more intimacy and trust to haircuts than a lot of people realize. Needed a break from writing Hanakotoba and this has been rotating in my mind for a bit. Obligatory @owoasis tag as my no. 1 enabler 💜

The wind blows and leaves shake loose from their trees, a lovely shower of red and gold. You watch as one leaf floats down, early in its partial transition, and lands in Sakura’s hair. Your fingers ache and impulse wins out as you reach up, catching the leaf before brushing his hair back in place, disrupted by the breeze.

“H-Hey, what’s that for?” he asks, cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink as his attention snaps to you.

Bringing your hand down, you show him the leaf, half-red, half-gold, twirling it by the stem between your thumb and forefinger. 

“You had a leaf in your hair.”

The Sakura from a couple months ago would’ve snapped at you, made some remark about how you should warn him next time or something. Instead, he sighs, eyes drifting to the left before they close, finding you when they open again. 

“You good?”

When you smile, his eyes track the movement before he turns away, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck.

“Perfect.” Continuing down the path in the park, you hear his steps behind you. Turning to look over your shoulder, you say, “Your hair’s gotten long, you know.”

His eyes flick up and his fingers come up to measure the length of his fringe before feeling the length at the nape of his neck. “Oh, is it? I guess I should trim it soon.”

“You do it yourself?”

He nearly runs into you when you stop and turn, surprised at your interest. “Y-Yeah? What’s wrong with that?” His voice hitches, turning defensive.

“Nothing! Nothing at all.” While you remain in place, he walks forward, all too eager to make it to the restaurant. “I could do it for you, if you’d like.”

That makes him pause, shoulders rising as he looks over, his ears turning pink. “Hah? No, it’s fine.”

It’s silly. You’ve done it a couple of times before and for whatever reason, learning that he cuts his own hair makes you want to be the one to cut it this time.

“Please?”

“You… want to… cut my hair?” As he asks, you can see the journey each word makes from his brain to his mouth, understanding your desire as though it were some elaborate math equation. “What’s wrong with you?”

His shoulders lower when you laugh and he rolls his eyes when you finally stop, unable to contain your glee. “Stop arguing and just tell me yes or no.”

The two of you stand there in silence for a minute or two, watching the other as another breeze blows through. After a moment longer of staring at you, he turns away, but not before you catch the blush that sits high on his cheeks. 

“F-Fine.”

Sakura shows up right on time the following Saturday morning. You walk him through to the kitchen, pulling up a dining chair on the tiled floor like you’ve done this countless times before. It makes him nervous, a little self-conscious, but you’ve never made fun of the gaps in his experiences, so he chooses to trust you. 

“How short do you want to go?” Your fingers come up, light as they card through his hair, pulling the strands between your fore and middle fingers. 

“Hm? Oh, I guess s-same as usual?” 

He isn’t expecting how serious you are about it, how your eyes assess him, measuring himself against the image you have of the past. He isn’t expecting the way you see him and don’t, the soft parting of your lips before they curve into a smile. 

“Got it. So, about here?” You draw an invisible line with your finger along his brow line where he’s been keeping it cut lately. 

“Yeah.”

“Can do. C’mere,” you say, pulling him from the chair and to your sink. 

“If you needed help with your dishes, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up, will you? Do you see any dishes that need washing?” He likes the sound of your laugh. You turn on the sink, setting the water to something just above lukewarm. “Wet hair’s easier to cut.”

Draping a towel over his shoulders, you have him wet his hair in the sink, your hands careful where they land, making sure it’s reached everything. 

“Really? I don’t notice a difference.” Water drips from his hair, landing on the towel, trailing down the contours of his face. You huff a laugh, using another towel to pat the excess wetness before combing through his hair.

“Maybe it’s good enough for you, but I wanna do this right.”

“I don’t get it, but whatever. My hair’s still my hair.”

He sits in your chair and listens to your footsteps, listens to the gentle metallic snip-snip-snip of the scissors as you open and close them, nowhere near him. No one’s handled his hair since he was a kid. By the time he came to Furin, he got used to doing it himself, not trusting anyone with his appearance. By the time he met you, he’d been doing it for so long he didn’t see any reason in wasting money to pay someone else. What little hesitation he feels evaporates when you walk in front of him, when you appraise him with careful eyes, wanting to do what he asks of you.

It’s painless, even in the prolonged silence. 

Your fingers are gentle as they guide his head, your voice soothing as you ask him to keep still, to bring his chin down, to keep his head straight. You cradle his face, moving his head when it starts to tilt when he grows relaxed, the cool press of the scissor handles on his cheek as you do. He doesn’t even notice it happening but you smile each time it does. When you start on his fringe, you’re quick to brush away loose hairs, keeping him clean. 

(It almost starts to feel like something else).

Every now and then you meet his eyes and you soften, seriousness melting away for something that looks dangerously close to fondness. In normal circumstances, he’s pretty sure he’d blush and try to escape, but he’s steady now, unable to look away. If you ask, he’ll blame it on the scissors in your hand.

(You don’t ask).

It’s over all too quickly, the soft padding of your slippers against the floor coming on the heels of your command to stay put. His skin burns where you last touched him, sharp in contrast to the cool air on the back of his neck, caused by damp hair. You sweep the hair from the ground all around him before asking him to stand, hands quick as they brush off any loose hairs from his clothes, stealing the towel from around his shoulders before you move around him. 

“You’re just about all done. I can blow dry your hair, if you’d like.”

“Uh, s-sure. You’re the one callin’ the shots, right?”

The smile you give him is blinding, happy with his trust in you and something flutters in his chest. It gets hard to not wanna go along with what you have planned when you look at him like that. He follows you to the bathroom, letting you fuss over him a bit longer. Even as the small space fills with the loud sound and hot air, even as you blow his hair every which way, all he can see is the reflection of you by his side in the mirror.

Everything ceases and you smile at him, not even glancing in the mirror, and you ask, “Well? Do you like it?”

Your hand comes up like it did earlier in the week, brushing his hair with your fingers, a satisfied grin sitting on your lips. 

“It looks the same.”

“Yeah, whatever.” That smile is replaced by a playful pout as you nudge his shoulder, turning to your reflections.

“I… guess… it wouldn’t be so bad if you cut my hair from now on.”

“You can’t just say that you liked it, can you?” You look at him again, that smile from earlier appearing, the one that’s soft like you can’t help yourself, the one that turns the tips of his ears warm. “Just tell me when, Sakura.”

As you leave him alone in your bathroom, patting his shoulders as you go, he realizes that if he didn’t know for certain how he felt about you before, he sure does now.

(bonus) | Hanakotoba masterlist | wbk masterlist

[synthshenanigans]

me when im forest for the trees idk i dont watch chonny jash

alt saturated one below v

also time on ibis cos god this took almost 40 hours