Raking leaves is cathartic.

Solitary.

Meditative.

Monk-like and focused I pulled crisp fallen leaves from the tree lawn into the gutter with all the energy of an aging samurai sweeping an empty dojo floor. Workers had already picked up most of our autumn leaves, but after the recent snowfall more dropped on East Gibson Street.

When I moved close to our baby tree that got slammed during last week’s snow storm I spoke softly, gently encouraging her to heal and return to us stronger than before the attack of wet, heavy snow that broke her limbs but not her spirit.

“You’re the most beautiful tree in Scranton,” I said, giving a spray of leaves a little peck.

I complimented her appearance without being “treeist,” a word I made up that defines the opposite of my increasing regard for nonhuman nature and the vulnerable fast-disappearing species that make up our planet. Earth exists as an endangered species all by herself. Without Mother Earth no human would remain or appear ever again.

If only for a few seconds, at least try to think about that somber fact.

Like human sexists who mostly harm women, human treeists disrespect the spirit of life that courses though the living, breathing veins of their victims. Like us, trees and leaves have veins. Leafy tubes carry water, nutrients, glucose and oxygen, transporting invisible building blocks of existence throughout the leaves and the rest of the tree. Like human veins that carry vital life energy into the hearts of our species, tree veins carry power and vitality throughout their trunks, branches and leaves that make up their bodies.

Standing back to inspect the natural beauty of our baby tree I noticed how since her accident she has expanded her reach into the sky, standing evermore firmly planted beside her big sister tree who reaches beyond the telephone wires as if she’s hugging the heavens, kissing the sky the way Jimi Hendrix smooched the azure outskirts of his mind. Our baby tree reflects the psychedelic, trippy and magical essence of the universe. Baby tree’s a hippie tree dancing amid societal breakdown, reflecting a wild natural rhythm of existence to which more people should pay attention.

Stephanie and I pay attention.

After I raked the leaves and piled them on the corner for city workers to collect, I entered our Zen garden through the high cedar gate at the back of the house. On my way in I reached down to greet two different kinds of bushes that line each side of the garden path. Weighty snow had pounded both plants and I spent time a few days ago carefully lifting and sweeping snow from their bowed branches. Now they responded like grateful pet dogs thankful for the attention.

A fat squirrel standing on the meditation platform where we sit zazen on warmer days watched my entrance. Resting both little paws on its belly the creature resembled an enlightened beastie Buddha, sitting back on its haunches, calmly observing life in all forms.

A week earlier I found a dead squirrel stretched out nearby beside the hard coal Buddha, three chunks of anthracite set one atop the other sculpted into what reminds me of a black dragon guarding the temple. I want to believe the squirrel died of natural causes but realize how predators prowl even peaceful land. Survival of the fittest dictates such stark reality.

Our primary failing as human predators lies in believing we have the right to conquer life. War, pollution and other toxic invasions might one day doom us all. Despite living atop the food chain, perhaps our species is a devolving freak of nature, mutant monsters too smart for our own good, anatomically modern Homo sapiens, yet quirks of nature after only about 200,000 years headed for future self-destruction. If so, the 4.5 billion-year-old planet will get along just fine without us.

Meanwhile I’ll do my best to live in peace among the intruders, practicing harmony as my main martial art of societal self-defense that requires helping to protect the environment. Peace of mind magnifies the will to persevere. Peace of mind unites the commitment to save a little piece of our world with the hopeful growth of our baby tree.

Stephanie and I look forward to watching our baby tree grow.

Together we’ll kiss the sky.