Ancient Trees, Setting Sun, Apparitions in the Night

"Ancient Oak", 5"x5" scratchbord drawing

While my days at home are spent preparing for the 

coming snows, I steal moments while teaching to 

bring more ancient trees to life. Only a few weeks 

left in the semester, and students work 

independently on self-designed projects. I 

become more like a consultant now, as long as I've 

done my job at the beginning of the class to invite 

them into their own creative process. I enjoy working 

along side, sharing in the development of our work. 

Have I mentioned how much I love teaching? 

"Dancing Oak", 5"x5" scratchboard drawing

 Much of the land in these hills is second growth, 

though stands of old growth forests dot the hills 

here and there. The sides of roads are lined 

with old, gnarled sugar maples and trees that 

escaped being cut because they grew at the

 boundaries of land parcels. 

One such tree is this enormous hemlock 

on the side of the road near my house. 

I call her "Grandmother Hemlock". Its hard 

to get a good sense of scale here, 

 I must return with someone for a size comparison. 

She is mostly hollow now, and until last year she 

was still full of green growth. One night of high 

winds brought her top down and most of her 

sweeping branches. Until the other day I thought 

she was completely dead. I spent some time sitting 

with her and noticed to my surprise 

that she still has several green branches growing 

from her middle. She whispers

many stories to me when I pass- stories of 

owls nesting inside, mosses gathering 

at her roots, and days gone by when people

other than me greeted her as a wise elder spirit. 

Up the road from Grandmother Hemlock, trees cradle

 the sinking sun. A barred owl glides past, I stop and 

follow her in my dreaming. 

The last of the leaves shout orange as I pass, 

I catch them frolicking with the light 

and wind, flitting this way and that, filling my 

otherwise quiet walk with a sound like 

paper lanterns in the breeze.    

In the field at the crest of the hill, I pause for the 

last of the color show. 

The return walk on the other side of the road, 

reveals stories written in sand. A deer track, 

heading into the forest. 

And what appears to be a coyote speeding along 

behind. Its the time of deer running.

Predators are hungry with the gathering cold, 

and the forest is full of coyote pups growing bigger, 

and orange-vested men with guns, 

stealing a day away from work 

to hunt the deer. 

I remember a brief encounter as I write. 

While driving in the moonlight, I squinted 

at the apparition in the middle of the road. 

A slight mist, the rising almost-full 

moon, a pair of antlers appearing in front of me. 

I slowed and the young buck walked slowly to the 

side of the road. I rolled down my window as he 

turned back to look into my eyes. I waited for him

to speed away - instead he turned and

walked slowly, gently into the dark.