A crescent moon hovered in the gray sky tonight as the day slipped away. The weather has been perfect for enjoying the little plot of land I own for now. Three owls have taken up residence in my woods of late, two with very similar whistle/screech calls, the third with a much more mellow, cooing call. The third is huge compared to his other companions and will watch me from very high up in the trees, occasionally flying ahead down the path I’m taking, landing in a spot to have a good vantage point over me.
I notice I have far fewer squirrels this year and almost no mole-holes in the yard. I like these owls, though I miss the hawk of the last few years. Off in a dark gully I heard some thrashing tonight and some horrid cries. It could have been squirrels but I think it more likely to have been a couple of young birds taken from their nests by one of the smaller owls. They kept crying out in what sounded like a plea for help, not so much in a defiant return fight, their parents having abandoned them, flying elsewhere in the woods to squawk in protest but otherwise doing nothing.
The path to the stream has been growing over a bit as fresh twigs spout from the earth to claim their rich ground. I’ve not walked it enough lately, but today I took a book and sat on a log for a few hours. It was an appropriate way to spend some time, a rest I have deserved.
The woods tell a story of times I’ve not witnessed. Next to the stream stands a half a tree. Judging from the refuse around it, another tree from across the stream fell many years ago, too close to the water’s edge, it’s roots could not grasp the loose soil strongly enough as its weight overtook its height. When it fell, it hit hard enough in the fork of a tall maple tree to split the tree in half, one half falling away into the stream where it has since been decomposed and washed away. The other half still clings to the bank, the roots still running deeply. From one side the tree trunk appears to be full, round, 40-50 years old, but stepping around to its side, one sees the narrow sliver of trunk shooting up from the soil into the sky, the core looking dead, partly rotted.
But high up the older trunk has put forth new, large branches over the years, seeking the sunlight with broad leaves. Towards the base, new shoots are growing from the split. Rather than giving in and dying, or falling away, the tree fights on, seeming to know it is in a good place and can survive no matter how harsh the damage from circumstances. Over the years the tree spread its roots, running deep under ground, giving it a solid access to all it needed to sustain it. Even if in a few years the rest of the old trunk it has been defined as finally falls away, the new growth coming from the base will be tall enough to reinvent itself, to start over, the foundation from early in its life, then developed over time, giving it the strength to go on.
what a wonderful post to read before going to bed. It reminds me of the environment of the weekend house I used to share with my wonderful friends. I remeber sitting quietly on the porch listening to wind & the owl’s call to its mate as the other guarded the nest and watching my entertainment for the evening: the owl as it swooped in for the kill on its vulnerable prey until it was successful.
Goodnight, sleep tight…dont let the bed bugs bite.
I want to be where you are. It sounds beautiful. Not that it isn’t beautiful here. Just not what I desire. There is a reason this place is a vacation destination for most folk.
Have I told you I really enjoy the way you write. I can almost see what you are describing.