Beneath the canopy of giants, young and older beeches fill the understory along the trail that runs to the river.
Everywhere, warm tans soften the gray of this raw and rainy winter day, persistent dry leaves whispering in the wind,
Everywhere, warm tans soften the gray of this raw and rainy winter day, persistent dry leaves whispering in the wind,
fallen ones cushioning the raindrops that patter against the forest floor.
Great craggy white oaks soar skyward, golden-crowned kinglets and nuthatches searching the loose bark for hidden grubs and overwintering insects.
Mosses skirt the yellow poplars' flanged bases, creeping like fuzzy green stockings along the massive trees' long and winding toes.
Above, red-headed woodpeckers work the dead trees and yellow-bellied sapsuckers the live ones.
Food for all, near at hand, free for the finding.
Below, throngs of white-throats forage in the duff layer beneath the shrubs, disguised in the dry leaves, darting to and fro, like so many winged mice, too intent on their quest to notice me.
Oh, to be a member of this quiet, enfolding community, surrounded by unpretentious beauty in all seasons...roots entwined, branches interlaced, mysterious communication beneath the earth-one species to another, no awareness of the human folly beyond its borders.
Like the imaginary dwellings of my childhood, secret spaces beneath sweeping branches, hidden from the rest of the world, the sanctuary to which I turn when in turmoil...
Peace in the company of beeches.
lovely, Ann. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteOne thing I love about beeches:
Late in winter, the last weathered but persistent beech leaves rattle in a puff of warming breeze. They float in the expectant grey forest like pale peach butterflies.
your image of the inter-dependancy and intimacy of the forest world is gorgeous.
Patrice, lovely image. I have old old beech trees in back of our lot.
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