There is something very reassuring about the solidity of a great-girthed tree. I turned to tree-hugging when nothing else would reach in to comfort the depths of me as I dealt with the loss of my sight. Who do you speak to when what you have to say is so private and makes no sense in common language? Trees, in their silent permanence, seem to absorb and understand the whispers from a mind that cannot form ordinary sentences. I could not bear to speak of what felt so subtle, difficult and elusive. Instead, I wrapped my arms around trees and spoke to them.