OCTOBER 7, 2020 – Last Sunday I explored the land beyond my “tree garden” up at the lake. I was charting a route from the ravine I call Djurgården—“the deer garden,” in Swedish—up a steep, wooded slope to a glade of oaks and beyond that, a trail I call “Nor – Way”—a play on words (“north way” and “Norway,” the latter referring to the ubiquitous Norway pine seedlings in that area). Before advancing very far, I cast my gaze on the bog that lies beyond Djurgården. Through the trees I could see that this wetland merited closer inspection.
With shears I cut a path to the edge for a clearer view. What a sight to behold! The bog was a veritable sculpture garden designed by Mother Nature. At one end was an uprooted tree, exposing an intricate web of tentacles that for many years and ages ago had fed a giant of the woods. Near the center of the bog were two mature birches that shared an improbable base—disproportionately large with a hole just above the waterline, large enough for a child to fit through. Farther down were logs forming a green bridge to enable the sure-footed forest dwellers to cut across the bog. At the far end was a tall stump, sculpted jointly by time and the elements.
I proceeded along the edge of the bog to gain a better vantage point for photos. The harder I tried, the more elusive the targets became. Ultimately, I quit—at first frustrated, then bemused by my need to “bag” this “bog.” Why, I thought, couldn’t I simply enjoy the beauty of this place in this time? I put my smartphone away.
I crept farther along the bog and encountered . . . The Emerald City. That’s the name that came to mind the moment I saw a huge, age-old stump covered with moss. It was a grand work of art. Without thinking, I pulled my smartphone out again to take a dozen photos, feeding my need to capture, secure and own my view of this wonder. None of the photos did justice. I put the smartphone away . . . again.
I gazed upon the deep green moss that had turned the remnant of a forest leviathan into a sculpture unrivaled by Disney or Michelangelo. I leaned against a nearby tree to contemplate the scenery around me. How many times over how many decades had I been to “the cabin,” “the lake” but oblivious to this corner of nature’s gallery? And only now had I discovered the tranquil beauty of this bog. The place was awash in sunshine and splashed with colors from an Impressionist’s palette. The air was still. This part of the world, anyway, was at peace with itself.
Just then, a current of air passed through. Surrounding aspen released their leaves, and like bright confetti they glistened in the sun as they fluttered to earth. In those moments beside The Emerald City, I stood in heaven.
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
