Wednesday, October 10, 2012
King
of the Thicket & Burr
Hidden
away, among the thorns he struts; not passively mind you, but without
any notable purpose. He dodges the advances of the oncoming spikes,
bobbing and weaving masterfully through the maze of brambles he's
become so familiar with. He stops momentarily, just long enough to
devour several ripe barberries, then again commences his journey. The
trajectory of his trek is North, North East, and up a south facing
slope. It's not a steep incline, but in combination with the thick
underbrush it serves as sufficient refuge; sanctuary from the meek or
lazy. As he reaches the top of the incline the brambles begin to
recede, opening up to the lush forest floor carpeted with leaves.
Their colors pale only in comparison to the rich aroma cascading off
of them. It comes as a welcome side-effect of their decomposition.
Within this break in the chaos of snarled branches and pricker bushes
stand three derelict apple trees. Standing alone as the last
remaining members of what was once a proud orchard.
To the
rarely exposed human eye, the presence of the three trees evokes a
nostalgic emotions, as if the trees themselves where channeling
ancestral memories from a simpler past. At the same time, their
presence provides a comforting reminder of the circle of life,
adaptation, and wholeness. Even in their absence, humans can still
provide for nature and the wild things that inhabit it. It is a
reminder that all things have a cycle and balance. To the King of
the Thicket and Burs, they are not memories or reminders, they are
only trees. What the views of our two species have in common, is the
trees roles as beacons. To us, the beacon is a metaphor for an
emotional ignition, spiritual catalyst; it is something abstract. To
his majesty it is concrete, a physical landmark if you will, but
more importantly supper .
He
waste no time moving across the ten foot distances between each tree,
stopping only when one of the many of the fallen fruits that litter
the forest floor proved to be just to appetizing to evade. Nearing
the end of the Orchard he reaches a decrepit moss covered stone
wall. The skeletal remains of a large sugar maple lays across the
cobbled fence. In one swift flapping motion of his wings and a push
from his muscular legs, he perches on the rough bark. From atop his
throne he can clearly see his kingdom, and soon enough he will begin
beating a rhythm that will echo out over it proclaiming to
adversaries and suitors alike that this land is his.
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