The Elder Tree Knows You
She always did.
There’s something different about the elder tree.
She’s not tall like the oak.
She doesn’t dazzle like the silver birch, she doesn’t need to.
The elder tree waits.
Low to the ground. Twisted. Hollow.
A little wild. A little strange. Utterly wise.
You might walk past her if you’re in a hurry.
But if you stop, just for a moment,
you’ll feel it: a presence that is older than time.
In ancient folklore, the elder was the witch’s tree,
sometimes feared, often revered.
People would bow to her. Ask permission before touching her branches.
Some believed she was a gateway between worlds.
Others said she was a witch – transformed, still watching.
But to me, the elder is something quieter.
A tree that sees your soul without blinking.
She doesn’t need ceremony or incense.
She only asks you to listen.
And if you do…
you might remember who you were before the noise began.
I used to sit on an elder branch as a child.
Not knowing what I was doing. Just… being.
Zoning out. Drifting. Dreaming.
Now I realise:
I wasn’t zoning out.
I was tuning in.
To her frequency.
To the stillness beneath thought.
To something that’s always been with me, quietly humming just under the surface of life.
The elder tree doesn’t live for centuries like the oak.
But she comes back stronger, over and over.
Even when she’s cut. Even when she’s ignored.
She heals and she grows again.
That’s her gift.
She teaches us to reclaim our own rhythm.
To heal ourselves through softness.
To remember that wisdom doesn’t have to shout.
So, if you ever pass an elder tree…
don’t just walk by.
Sit with her.
Close your eyes.
Let her tell you what you’ve forgotten.
Because the elder tree knows you.
She always did.