One day an old tree, its top sheared off by some long ago storm, its roots embedded in the rock at the cliff top where I sat, told me, when I got quiet enough to listen, how to cure an unfolding illness. It spoke in the language of symbols. I collected two of the pine cones that lay at its feet, a gift. At home I made a decoction and drank the bitter liquid. Not long after the symptoms disappeared. Learn to be with the trees: if you can go quiet and open your inner eyes, they will teach you what you need to know.