JANUARY 1, 2021 – This morning I took an early walk through the “tree garden” in the woods adjacent to the Red Cabin. My wife, our son and daughter-in-law remained back at the cabin—lounging, making coffee and waiting for the outside temperature to rise from 12F to a level more conducive to going . . . outside.
I don’t mind the cold, and by the views through the cabin windows, I saw that immediately was the best time to experience the tree garden. The sun was about to make its grand entrance to start a new day and, we all hope, a happier new year. I needed to contemplate the troubles behind and the promise ahead; no better time or place to think than at daybreak in the tree garden.
The quiet beauty of my surroundings soon dispelled contemplation of past or future; the pandemic’s conquest of the world vs. the world’s conquest of the pandemic; Trump and old team vs. Biden and new team; last year’s injustices vs. this year’s remediation; last year’s suffering vs. this year’s . . . hope.
Instead of thinking about the human condition, I thought about my immediate surroundings . . . in the moment.
This place, like any other on earth, is constantly changing, even when slumbering under nature’s white blanket; even as the pine sentinels stand motionless in winter air. Apollo is in perpetual motion, thus altering the aspect of all that is illuminated by his brilliance.
I’ve spent many hours in this quiet corner of earth, but it’s a winter day that stills my thoughts; freezes time . . . if I stop long enough to notice. This morning I stopped, I noticed.
I noticed the sparkle of diamonds—as numerous as the stars of the heavens—in the down-like snow around me. I noticed the fresh deer tracks on the section of trail ahead. I noticed a regal Norway pine—in summer less noticeable amidst its subjects clothed in green. In winter this tree stands out. With a crown of hoarfrost shining in the first rays of the day, the ancient pine towered above its realm. I pondered the pine’s long life and unbroken record of sunrises, sunsets, lunar cycles, and the inexorable march of seasons, year after year, through decades of a full century and parts of two others; from one millennium to another.
If I could carry on a conversation with that tree, it would be filled with questions and wonder—on my part, certainly, and doubtless by the tree, as well, as it sought an understanding of human(not-so)kind. Maybe future humans will learn to communicate with trees; will discover a way to apprehend arboreal thoughts, feelings and means of expression. From such a breakthrough, our descendants will gain revelatory insight into the nature of nature . . . and of humanity.
Until then, I’m content with the rewards I now reap while standing in the woodland realm as Apollo drives his chariot across the first day of a happier new year.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
