For the past 10 years I have walked a path...an actual path, from my home, through the woods, across a wooden bridge, around a lake, and back. Before I came to that path, a young tree had been uprooted, to make way for the paved trail. It's vulgar, yet fascinating root skirt upended, taller than I am, and certainly taller than my then toddler son who would stare and point at the parts of the tree he wasn't intended to see. And with each year he grew taller and was able to see parts of the tapestry he couldn't before.
And then my daughter followed him. At first she was a bit frightened, the skirt looming over her, casting a wide shadow...but then she would see the flecks of light that shone through, and would flit from glowing spot to glowing spot, like a kitten. And then she grew, and would bring to our attention different arrangements of various fungi and lichen that had made themselves comfortable.
Once in a while, I would glance over at the trunk, stretched out on the ground, pointing deeper into the forest. I noticed it slowly changing, playing host to homeless creatures, and providing sustenance to others, acting a base for new plantlife sprouting fresh green.
Over the years, I would frequent the path less and less, discovering new routes, some on the paved trails, others off through more uncharted territory. Sometimes they were shorter, other times longer, but always, they would bring me home.
Today, I walked that original path for the first time in many, many months. I stopped where the tree used to be. At least, I thought I did. I walked a bit further, thinking I was mistaken, but then retraced my steps, recognizing the curve in the trail, and the old live oak across the way. The tree was gone. Completely and utterly gone without a trace. Gone was the once vast root skirt, that was once wider than my arms could stretch. Gone was the trunk, the branches...without a trace. Back to terra mater, after having reached once to the sky to enjoy the sunlight. Back to the earth, and though brought down to soon, provided years of home and hearth for countless other creatures.
It will never really be gone, though we can no longer see it or touch it. Gone from our immediate senses, yes, but firmly rooted as a memory. It's energy dispersed into so many other forms, in the earth, in the water of the creek nearby, in the air.
I may need to walk a different path tomorrow. But maybe not. We'll see where the wind takes me, and if it's back the same way, I will be sure to smile when I take that turn...
