I found my tree...

This is what I wrote yesterday. Right now rain is falling but I know the sun is shining somewhere.


Away from the sunlit parking lot the spring woods are cool and for a moment I want the warmth of my jacket and gloves, resting on the seat of my Jeep. Tall red and white pines form a high arching tunnel overhead, guiding me through into the open canopy of quaking aspens, red maples, basswoods and red oaks. Only the quaking aspens have committed to the idea of spring and summer, flaunting their intense green leaves in defiance of the frost that covered them earlier in the day. The other trees retain a shyness that seems inappropriate given the necessity to leaf out and grow in a place where summers can be too short.

Oven birds sing Teacher! Teacher! Teacher!. A loud staccato burst echoes through the woods. I imagine a sapsucker drumming on a treetop, hammering out a territorial imperative. Again the sapsucker drums in a whir of sound yet each note is distinct and unique. They are merely connected by a common interest, a common cause.

I want to see this bird and let my ears lead the way. My eyes and feet follow; a few steps, a pause to listen and then a few more steps. The leaves on the forest floor are crunchy and I try to be quiet as I move slowly around trees, over limbs, pausing to watch and listen. Closer and closer; the drumming hasn't moved and is coming from...Hmm? The red oak or the aspen? Neither look dead enough to provide such a splendid sound board. One more step and the leaves underfoot give me away. The bird appears from the far side of the red oak and my eyes trace the looping path between trees until he lands 60 yards away and begins drumming again. This time the sound reaching my ears is muffled, not by distance but by the quality of the tree. I turn and walk back to the trail, my eyes scanning the ground for morels among the leaves and wood anemones. A few minutes later I hear the drumming behind me. Loud and clear the sharp tones ring through the woods and I smile. The bird has reclaimed his chosen tree.

As I walk my attention is divided between the birds and trees and sunlight dancing at my feet, and Karen at home, stuck in her anger. Maybe I should have stayed home to help her work through it, to listen while she vents but truly I felt the anger was something I could not fix for her. I felt the best thing was to take care of myself and today, that meant a walk in the May woods. I filled my Camelback, grabbed some fruit, my notebook and walking stick and left for the Maze.

I walk slowly, wandering from side to side, following wherever my curiosity leads me; pausing to 'pish' warblers and smile at the faultless blue sky. My attention comes to rest on the trunk of an old white pine standing next to the trail. Gnarly stubs protrude from its' wrinkled and pitted sides, reminders of days when each branch and needle captured the voices of roaring winds and the peaceful soughing of the evening breezes; the stubs are reminders of a greater glory. I like big trees and I really like big, old, twisted gnarly trees. They speak to me of hard times and survival; thriving in spite all the world throws at you.

My eyes continue following the trunk upward and surprise! There, near the top, several branches extend green needles to the sky. The upper limbs are raised like a supplicant in prayer, like the graceful sweeping arms of a dancer, capturing in simple swaying movements, all the energy of life. What at first glance I thought to be dead is really living and alive, still growing albeit more slowly, this tree is everything I want and need in my life at this moment.

That was yesterday. Karen is better. Good advice and time and patience help. She is feeling better knowing she is passing through predictable stages of grief. We both have fears and I tell her we have to acknowledge them and let them go. In meditation thoughts come to you, you acknowledge them and return to your breathing. In the same way we can recognize our fears but return to our breathing, our living, our lives. Or else the fears, the blackness, will lead us in a direction we don't want to go. We must, as Thich Nhat Hanh says "Breathe in, Breathe out, Smile."

The rain and sun fall on each of us, in different amounts. It is up to us, like my old wrecked white pine, to choose to grow. Peace to all of you.
Mike