Saturday, January 19, 2013

Old Wood

This wood tells a story. If Things I get to do today included being a tree,  I know I would be quiet.  Trees don't get hysterical, run about and lose their senses. And they don't talk, at least outloud.
Wild storms come, and the wood might bend, twist and sway.  The roots could even fail and let go with the trunk crashing to the ground.  But the essence of the tree remains--solid and quiet.
Trees submitted to the saw and ax and became a split-rail fence after years of growing up, growing branches, swaying in the wind. Now they provide a safety guard along a steep cliff by Smith Rocks. 
The old timbers remain, still solid, still quiet with tiny words of its life inscribed in the wood.