Dowsing with Trees

It didn’t really get warm today but after doing a bunch of shoveling, I decided to prune an apple tree. I leaned in, slipping a bit on ice, then wedged my arms into place & clamped my lopper blades onto the knob of a sucker. I’ve always felt so held by trees, like when you know you’re not bothering someone, in fact, they want you to be there. You could just stay & stay & stay, & climbing higher, even carve your initials into their tender skin up top. I wonder what ever became of what I wrote there. It was like being in a hot air balloon, only more comfortable, with branches soft as chairs, surrounding my little frame. The wind swayed us. That was everyone working together, to make things special. I have a soft spot that goes far deeper than I show. I think a lot of us do, and we put that on animals, or seedlings, or pianos. Because to burst out with that stuff, on humans, means a whole world of trouble. Trust me, I know. Take a walking tour of my marriages, and you’ll know. All the instant best friends, the entourage(s), the back stage passes, green rooms, the excruciating style of fame, the famous, or those convinced they should be ... all of it, I’m sorry to have gotten caught up in it. But you see, being gaslit, shamed & rejected routinely since birth, makes your system, eventually, just shut down. At dusk, we head towards the dead end bundled in layers, crunching uphill into the woods as her tiny dog’s neon orange jacket disappears around the bend. The sunset is starting to fan out in unreal colors, behind the skeletal trees, mostly behind us, as we track east along the trail. “I use beads to dowse the maples,” she says, “before I place the tap”. Suddenly, the sound of skis cutting edge slices the silence & a dog tumbles thru us, then a man. I’ve crossed paths with extreme skiing before, caught sight of these angels as they fly thru the wilderness & felt their ephemeral presence, & the touch of their wings. If only I could have been so privileged, and I mean that. Next, its the putt-putt of a four-wheeler, sporting a plow. OMG, how I love to meet my neighbors doing their thing. This is a guy named Kelly, the last house on the road. We introduce ourselves, & talk, with the sparkly lights of a camper & school bus parked in the trees, one driveway down, casting a sort of Christmas cheerful glow. “We should have a tea party of neighbors!” I say, not really knowing what kind of event is actually appropriate, for people who live amongst the same group of trees. Each quirky human will have to decide for themselves, what is important, & what just, dammit, isn’t. I’m done with the stupidity of the losing love I painstakingly cultivated, because you threw away, in fear. I try to be brutally honest, now. “Don’t even think about it”, I say. But let’s do better, and lift everyone up at once. You’ll have to entertain some new habits, like watching the raw footage, of human souls. They are folks like me, who’ve had their livelihoods destroyed, and who are not happy about it, at all.
— Ridgerunner
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The Melt

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Dear Valentine