unexpectedly bad walk
Jul. 6th, 2006 04:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
adrienmundiWalking after lunch, I was sad that I missed the rain, but looking forward to seeing and experiencing its aftereffects first hand; rushing water under the green, shady trees always makes me happy. However, early on I started to have misgivings. A fallen log that stuck out onto the path, which had been present for over a year, was pushed to the side. I immediately thought of the three fallen, but still living, trees that crossed the path for the last few months.
I love those trees. The first was easiest to pass, requiring only a slight stoop to slip under it. I lay an open hand against it every day in greeting, happy to see it. Today, it wasn't there; it had been cut up and unceremoniously tossed into the underbrush, its leaves still visibly green.
The second tree was around a bend, past the concrete underpass that only comes alive during or after rain. The way it fell, you had to thread between upper branches, and stoop slightly in the heart of them, surrounded by living, green leaves and their own shade: it was gone, too, sliced up and tossed aside.
Before I even got to where I knew the third tree would no longer be, I passed by where a gently arching tree used to reach over the path; it, too had been cut down. The third tree, which covered all of the path and was only passable by bending and weaving among many solid branches, was also gone. The clearing where the stream oxbowed into a living dam (a tree that blocked easy flow) had suffered as well; all lower, arching limbs and trunks had been cut away. The end result was a more open, less intimate, less beautiful space. The green dome I had come to know and love had been dismantled. I found myself sitting on the bench, crying, and apologizing, though for whom, and to what, I'm still not sure I can say.
I love those trees. The first was easiest to pass, requiring only a slight stoop to slip under it. I lay an open hand against it every day in greeting, happy to see it. Today, it wasn't there; it had been cut up and unceremoniously tossed into the underbrush, its leaves still visibly green.
The second tree was around a bend, past the concrete underpass that only comes alive during or after rain. The way it fell, you had to thread between upper branches, and stoop slightly in the heart of them, surrounded by living, green leaves and their own shade: it was gone, too, sliced up and tossed aside.
Before I even got to where I knew the third tree would no longer be, I passed by where a gently arching tree used to reach over the path; it, too had been cut down. The third tree, which covered all of the path and was only passable by bending and weaving among many solid branches, was also gone. The clearing where the stream oxbowed into a living dam (a tree that blocked easy flow) had suffered as well; all lower, arching limbs and trunks had been cut away. The end result was a more open, less intimate, less beautiful space. The green dome I had come to know and love had been dismantled. I found myself sitting on the bench, crying, and apologizing, though for whom, and to what, I'm still not sure I can say.
