We talk a lot about spirit animals, those creatures that somehow mirror who we are. But I’ve been wondering: what if we thought about it differently?
What if, instead of an animal, you had a spirit tree?
Not just something you like the look of, but something that reflects your rhythm, your personality, your way of moving through the world.
Would you be a Dogwood? The kind that quietly prepares all winter, then arrives in spring with soft pink blooms like delicate teacups, effortless, fleeting, unforgettable. A seasonal performer. Your own version of a Met Gala moment, followed by a gentle retreat into green stillness.
Or maybe you’re more like a fruit tree, apple, pear, peach. You begin with blossoms that delight both bees and people, but you don’t stop there. You turn beauty into nourishment. You give something back. There’s a generosity to you, a quiet productivity. An entire orchard could exist in your energy.
You might be an evergreen. Steady. Unchanging in the best way.
While everything else fades in winter, you remain providing structure, color, presence.
You watch the cycles come and go: spring’s chaos, summer’s fullness, autumn’s unraveling. And you hold it all. Observing. Remembering. Grounded.
Or maybe you’re something a little unexpected like a Ginkgo. Ancient, distinctive, not always understood. Your beauty isn’t conventional, but it’s undeniable. You carry history in your leaves.
You could be one of the great classics Oak, Maple, Ash, Sycamore. Trees that don’t need to announce themselves to be known. Deep roots. Quiet strength. The kind of presence people rely on without always realizing it.
Or perhaps you’re a Magnolia. Bold, elegant, impossible to ignore. Big blooms, glossy leaves, a sense of occasion about you. You don’t just exist in a space you define it.
Maybe you’re a weeping willow. Thoughtful. Reflective. Drawn to water, to stillness, to introspection. You don’t rush you observe, you feel, you bend without breaking.
Or even a redwood. Towering, ancient, part of something much bigger than yourself. You gather knowledge over time, connected to others in ways most people can’t see. Quietly communicating, quietly enduring.
I’ve been thinking about this more than I expected.
And I think my spirit tree might actually be a Norfolk Island Pine, more so than the Eucalyptus I first had in mind.
Not the small indoor version, but the tall coastal trees I grew up with in Australia.
The ones that line the ocean, standing steady against salt and wind, growing slowly but surely over time. They don’t rush. They don’t bend easily. They just… exist.
I picture being perched on a cliff, watching the waves roll in endlessly.
Not needing to move to feel the world shifting around me.
There’s something about that kind of steadiness that feels like home.
A close second would be a Magnolia, for its unapologetic beauty and sense of occasion. That choice is purely love, I’ve planted so many, especially Yellow Butterflies Magnolia. She really is incredible.
And I’ve always been drawn to the Moreton Bay figs, especially the ones in Moore Park in Sydney. Those vast, grounding trees with sprawling roots and canopies that feel almost architectural. There’s something about their scale and presence that stays with you.
Maybe that’s what a spirit tree really is, not just something you admire, but something that quietly reflects the way you move through the world.
It’s just a lovely thing to think about.
What’s your spirit tree?
x Rebecca
