My feet dangle, swinging backward and forward until my heels
bump into the solid trunk beneath me. I look down at the one, two, three steps it takes to reach this spot. I must have taken those three steps though they are a blur in my memory even now as I sit once again on the stump of the tallest severed
limb. Right where Kole would’ve wanted to be. The key is not to allow myself the chance to think, to
consider the consequences. I know this adrenaline is the reason why I did not freeze up
this attempt. Because only now, after being seated for a minute or
so, I begin to feel the bark-carved scrapes in my palms. The soft flesh is
red, especially in the meatier spots, but it is not raw. I wring my hands, trying to
rub away the stinging and cold. It will be worth it to watch the sunset from up
here, I tell myself.
From where we live, up on the top of the hill, we get some truly
magical sunsets. The kind where your breath literally catches, where the sky
practically ignites. I wonder how many of those type of sunsets my tree watched
in its lifetime. I straighten – make myself an extension of the tree, become the
severed limb upon which I am seated: my eye level twelve feet about the
ground. Silver Maples are known for how quickly they grow and reach maturity:
often over 100 feet, sometimes up to 140. The upper branches draw my gaze,
begging me to guess their height. Forty feet? I wonder, estimating that it
doubles the height on my house. Fifty? My heart squeezes.
Just a baby.
I lean my head onto the trunk beside me. A cold, wetness dampens
my face. I pull away to find a dark, oval-shaped splotch in the bark just below
the chainsaw mark. My first thought is tears; logic intervened with the answer: snow
melt. I run three fingers over the spot of dark bark and then rub fingers and thumb
together. The consistency is not water, but almost like trumpet valve oil. Sap?
I wonder to myself. But tears still feels like the truer answer.
I swallow and turn back to the horizon in order to see what this
limb would if it were here. I expect the fiery oranges, burnt reds, and golden
yellows, but instead I see pastels: a pale blue, painted with a swatch of pink. The sky could be a pre-packaged bag of dollar store cotton candy. My shoulders
slump. I sit and wait and wait and wait, hoping for a prettier sunset. Even as
the voice in my mind utters those words, I know how ridiculous the word “prettier”
sounds, how unfair it is to ask for more from the world than for it to continue
spinning, for the sun to sink down as elegantly or as plainly as it wishes with
the hope that it will rise and do it all again tomorrow.
As I wait for this not-destined-to-be prettier sunset, I
begin to feel an ache in my hips. I realize that for almost half an hour, I
have been sitting on this stump severed at a severe diagonal. My hips have come
to settle at a 30 degree angle: left hip stretched low, right compressed into
my lower rib. I wiggle forward, struck by the dull, numb sensation in my lower extremities.
Once freed, I rotate myself around, grip the bark with still-stinging palms,
and slowly return myself back to the heart of the tree. The muscles in my
stomach tremble and ache but rather than weakness, I sense the promise
of strength.
Once again, you wrap together the feelings you are having and the textures and sensations of the tree so well. Your attention to detail is lovely. I love your description of the cotton candy sky. And I totally get your desire to have a "prettier" sunset. I sometimes think that too. When you see a particularly beautiful sky, you hope, maybe assume, you'll see it again the next day.
ReplyDeleteYes, you manage to say so much in a short number of paragraphs. This was a lovely blog. And I really like how you ended, with a nod to the promise of strength. I think you will find it. How very prophetic you are, whether you mean to be or not.
ReplyDeleteI have silver maples. I adore them. In spring they send down the swirling helicopters and when a storm comes the leaves flip over in the wind and are, you guessed it, silver. They are a gentle tree, in my opinion. Very much like a strong, tall, silent type.
Yes, you manage to say so much in a short number of paragraphs. This was a lovely blog. And I really like how you ended, with a nod to the promise of strength. I think you will find it. How very prophetic you are, whether you mean to be or not.
ReplyDeleteI have silver maples. I adore them. In spring they send down the swirling helicopters and when a storm comes the leaves flip over in the wind and are, you guessed it, silver. They are a gentle tree, in my opinion. Very much like a strong, tall, silent type.
I love reading your posts, Athena. They are always so thoughtful, and each word has weight and purpose. Every image is directed to an emotion that grabs me as a reader. Loved this line: "But tears still feels like a truer answer." Sometimes tears aren't a sign of weakness, but of someone going through a process that will make them stronger. Still sucks though. :( Though this was a sad post, I also thought the promise of strength at the end offers a sense of hope.
ReplyDeleteIt's clear you are coming to some tremendous insights through these meditations. These later entries are not less emotionally driven, but there is a sense of strength emerging from the loss and grief. I especially adore the lyricism of this line: ...how unfair it is to ask for more from the world than for it to continue spinning, for the sun to sink down as elegantly or as plainly as it wishes with the hope that it will rise and do it all again tomorrow.
ReplyDelete"...how unfair it is to ask for more from the world than for it to continue spinning, for the sun to sink down as elegantly or as plainly as it wishes with the hope that it will rise and do it all again tomorrow." Like Mel said, this line is just beautiful and holds such insight. You are able to express your emotions so well through words. It is a very touching experience reading each of your blog posts.
ReplyDelete"...how unfair it is to ask for more from the world than for it to continue spinning, for the sun to sink down as elegantly or as plainly as it wishes with the hope that it will rise and do it all again tomorrow." Like Mel said, this line is just beautiful and holds such insight. You are able to express your emotions so well through words. It is a very touching experience reading each of your blog posts.
ReplyDelete