Day 9 - Symbols and Synchronicities
The Pine Sentinels of the Realm
The Pine Sentinels stand tall in the Realm. On the physical plane, they are two long-rooted pines tree in a nearby nature reserve—already towering when we moved here twenty years ago.
At first they were simply trees for the kidly winks to run around, circle on their bikes and lean against when they needed a break. Also shade for this weary parent to rest beneath.
When the school-run years began, the pines became my quiet witnesses. Sometimes I carried a camera, sometimes not. As I returned to writing, I started to see them as more than trees. They became Pine Guardians of this writer’s world—a gateway I passed through each time I walked between them. On the other side, the ordinary park opened up into something mystical and magical. Mythic: every tree held a secret, fallen branches were baby dragons at play.
As I approached them, I would often say hello. At first my greetings went unanswered. It wasn’t time yet. They simply watched—through my curious days, my preoccupied days, even a few tear soaked ones too.
Then one morning, something shifted. I didn’t speak any differently; I just showed up differently. When I said “Hello” they answered: “Hello Princess.”
I may have paused, perhaps I didn’t. Either way, I accepted it and kept walking, with a small smile of acknowledgement. From then on, our conversations continued: small exchanges that arrived like thought but felt like truth. I began noting them on my phone and before long, their story wove itself into the one I was writing.
They became The Pine Sentinels of the Realm—blood brothers who chose to stand exactly where they are. They have watched doggo transform from a nervous little wreck into the confident sniffer that he is today. They’ve also seen the ebb and flow of my story workings.
They still keep guard over every threshold I cross.
They remind me that belonging isn’t a place you find; it’s a rhythm you grow into. We belong to the moments that have witnessed us and the ones we’ve witnessed in return. The Pine Sentinels belong to this ground and I belong to the world they open for me each time I pass between them. The magic isn’t in what they say—it’s in remembering that I can still hear them.