Alexa Fleckenstein M.D.

From a ski lift, many years ago, my ski instructor pointed out that aspen trees have eyes. Aspens self-prune by throwing off lower branches – which makes for straight, sturdy stems. Where the branches fall off, they leave trunk marks like the Egyptian eye of Horus, or like the famous Nepalese eyes: They look at you – and don’t let go. For me, the aspen eyes have become a symbol for our yearly ski trips to the Rocky Mountains, and for the truth and beauty we find in Nature. There is a stand of aspen in Utah that is estimated to be 80,000 years old. When you think this is remarkable, consider that all the trees of an aspen grove are joined underground: That forest is a single organism, if you will. We surely can learn from something that old, wise and connected. Even if you never watched the classic movie Casablanca, you have heard about the famous scene: “Here’s looking at you, kid,” Humphrey Bogart says to Ingrid Bergman, with love and sternness, because the lovers have to part; Ingrid has to learn to live her own life, and get over the pain of losing the greatest love of her life. The aspen eyes look at me with the same Casablanca sternness. Those eyes are more than just beautiful. Through those eyes Nature looks back at me, I feel. Deep and hard. Same way how we should look at our fears.