Yew trees have repeatedly emerged in my research as negotiators of change: they can grow to be thousands of years old and are commonly associated with death, purgatory, and regeneration. They are often connected to worship sites, especially in European Christianity and Japanese Shinto religions.
Bio-electric studies have shown Taxus employs root systems with the highest vitality among trees, investing heavily in them as seedlings, making yew extremely adaptive (Yew: A History, Fred Hageneder).
Extended branches of the tree can root new trunks when they touch the ground. These rhizomatic, expansive growths have formed ancient groves like at Kingley Vale. In some trees here, patches of bark seep deep ruddy and mauve sap.
One theory about why yew trees bleed is that rainwater becomes soaked by the tree’s heartwood and then escapes through its bark, causing the pigment to become more pronounced (Woodland Trust).
All parts of the tree are poisonous to humans, except for the fleshy red aril that encases its seed. Today, there is growing demand for the taxol compound found in the bark of Pacific Yew, due to its use as a cancer treatment. For me, the yew tree is not a neutral symbol.