The dead tree in our path

by DRM

On a trail I walk there is an old tree that has given up life but stands rooted stolidly in the ground.

The trunk is thick and black. The sea­sons have embalmed it. The wood is so hard that the bark won’t break off in your hands.

The boys pick up stray scraps that have been yanked off in the wind and use them as swords. They parry each other. Then they grasp thick boughs with two hands and ham­mer the trunk of the tree. The strokes land in dull thuds. Their bod­ies shake with the effort. The tree is unmoved.

This tree stands in the mid­dle of the path. To keep on, you have to walk either to the right or left. When you are under the tree, you can look up through the leaf­less branches straight to the sky. For a moment you are cap­tured beneath a flurry of ink strokes.

Walk on and the canopy of the woods cov­ers you again. This is dis­ori­ent­ing. It is like walk­ing back into life, know­ing that some­thing spe­cial is being left behind.

You can find this image and other fas­ci­nat­ing aes­thetic arti­facts at this blog from Valerie Pace.