Stori Sycamorwydden - A Sycamore’s Story
Llun gan Lisa Hudson
Gan Seran Dolma a Lisa Hudson
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Mae’r stori hon yn rhan o brosiect Seran Dolma i ysgrifennu cyfres o straeon byrion yn seiliedig ar sgyrsiau gyda cyfranogwyr a phartneriaid Utopias Bach. Mae Seran Dolma yn awdur Preswyl Utopias Bach.
This Story is part Seran Dolma’s project to write a series of short stories based on conversations with participants and partners of Utopias Bach. Seran Dolma is Author in Residence at Utopias Bach.
Mae hadau masarn yn asgellog. Mae nhw’n troelli wrth ddisgyn, ac yn medru cael eu cario ymhell gan y gwynt. Gelwir hwynt yn Saesneg yn ‘keys’.
Fe arhosais amdani hi am amser hir. Roeddwn i’n gwybod ers oeddwn yn egin bach newydd o’r hedyn y deuai hi rhyw ddydd. Mae gan pob coeden ei dyfyn; Bod arall y mae nhw’n gyfarwydd â hwy, rhywun i rannu eu doethineb, eu dysg, eu dail, eu pren, weithiau, os mai dyna’r ffawd sy’n eu cysylltu. Mae rhai coed yn gydnabyddus a theulu o adar arbennig; cenedlaethau o gywion yn deor a magu yn eu canghennau dros y blynyddoedd. Mae rhai yn hoff le i sefyll gan dylluanod, neu yn bostyn crafu i garw neu fuwch. Mae rhai yn cynnal chwilod, gwyfynod, morgrug, cacwn neu bryfed. Mae llawer mewn cariad a ffwng arbennig, ac yn treulio’u hoes mewn sgwrs diddiwedd â’r myseliwm sy’n plethu trwy eu gwreiddiau. Rwy’n nabod hen dderwen sydd wedi gwahodd haid o wenyn i nythu mewn ceudwll yn ei chanol, ac nawr ble bu pren caled ei chalon mae dil mêl yn sïo trwy’r haf. Mae pob coeden yn gynhaliaeth a chartref, cysgod a chysur i rhywun neu rhywrai, ond mae rhai ohonom yn gwybod bod ein dyfyn ni’n un o’r creaduriaid dwy goes rheiny sy’n galw eu hunain yn bobl…
Llun gan Kar Rowson
Sycamore seeds are winged. They spin as they fall, and can be carried long distances by the wind. In English they are called 'keys'.
I waited for her for a long time. I knew since I was a tiny seedling that one day she would come. Every tree has a familiar; a being that they know, someone to share their wisdom, their learning, their leaves, their wood, sometimes, if that is the fate that binds them. Some trees are familiar with a particular family of birds, - generations of chicks hatching and growing and fledging in their branches. Some are a favourite perching place for owls, or a scratching post for a deer or a cow. Some support beetles, moths, ants, wasps or aphids. Many are in love with a particular fungus, and spend their lives in endless conversation with the mycelium that weaves through their roots. I know an old oak tree that invited a swarm of bees to nest in a hollow in it’s trunk, and now where the hard heartwood used to be, honeycomb seethes and buzzes all summer. Every tree is a home, a shelter, a comfort and a support to some or several beings, but some of us know that our familiar is one of those two legged creatures that call themselves humans…
Image by Lisa Hudson