If trees could speak...

Whenever I need to think really hard about something, be it personal or professional, I always feel the urge to go sit under a tree. Must be some kind of Newtonian reflex. Weighing options, contemplating possibilities and trying to come up with some kind of solution, the idea of doing this under a robust tree - leaning against its solid stem, maybe even talking out loud - has something very appealing to me.

Yesterday, this sparked the following thought: if trees could speak, wouldn't they be fantastic story-tellers? I mean, many a secret of upmost historical impact must have been shared under a silent oak, many a revolution must have been started in a regular forest, many a love must have been declared under a blossoming fruit tree.

Trees must have a talent for telling stories!

And then again, there is definitely more to say about this: having a curious personality myself, not being afraid to get immersed into something completely different – I'd be the first one to participate in a workshop 'entertaining Irish mountain goats with homemade Polynesian percussion instruments' - the sentence “You must have a talent for this” is no stranger to me. Despite the fact that I do seem to be slightly better than average in most activities I'm willing to give a shot – reaching that particular level which sets you apart from complete novices might be some unrecognized talent of mine - I somehow think that people saying this haven't found their own talents (yet). Because I genuinely believe that we all have at least one thing that makes us special. Although I'm not saying it has to be useful...

Let us take Roy Sullivan for example, an American from Virginia (1912-1983) who worked as a U.S. Park Ranger. Between 1942 and 1977, this man was struck by lightning on seven different occasions and survived all of them. That is pretty amazing, don't you think? I sometimes wonder how he must have felt, a few days before his own birth, when he was queuing at the Talent Desk for Soon-To-Be Babies.

- Next!

- Good morning, my name will be Roy Sullivan, I am supposed to be born on February the 7'th, in Greene County, Virginia.

- Ah, yes, Mister Sullivan! Welcome. Pick a card from this box please.

(unfolds a paper and gives the lady behind the counter an incredulous look)

- Is there a problem sir?

- I don't get it, my card says 'human lightning rod'.

- Congratulations! You just pulled out one of few bonus cards: you'll be sent to earth with a combo-talent.

- (opening up) A combo-talent? Interesting.

- Yes, first of all, you'll be able to survive lightning impact.

- (slightly disappointed) Ah. Hm. Okay. And the other one?

- Well, erhm... you will have a talent for attracting lightning too.

That the Board for New Talent Proposals gets away with 'being able to chase lightning away' makes perfect sense to me. Someone with this talent would definitely be able to find a well-paid job as permanent resident on top of a tropical skyscraper. I suppose I'd even accept the proposal to saddle someone up with the talent 'being able to deflect lightning so that it always crashes into your nearest neighbour'. I mean, put this guy next to the other one on the tropical rooftop, add a decent sound-system and a cocktail bar and you have all ingredients for a memorable party with a flashy laser effect. But a talent for 'attracting lightning'? Come on guys, was this the first thing you came up with on a Monday morning, or the last thing on a Friday evening? That's not a talent, that's a burden.

I bet trees in Virginia are talented story-tellers. Horror stories, that is. About this fearsome park ranger that could have you killed in a second, merely by sheltering under your canopy.