Day 11

I walk past my usual Sit Spot.  I need to be near water today so I head down the hill.  I find an uprooted tree whose trunk forms a bench over the frozen creek and gives me a view of a young, two-trunked beech growing from the roots of a much older tree.  The twigs cling tenaciously to last year’s leaves, even as this year’s buds swell.

I ask her for a message.  A message for me.  A message for him.  The beech leaves begin to quiver, knocking against each other, making the sound of chattering teeth.  “Are you afraid,” I ask.  The quivering and chattering continue.  “Don’t worry,” I whisper.  “I will love him.”

 

 

The breeze stops.  The leaves are still again.

As I retrace my steps I see dozens of beech leaves on top of the snow that I did not notice before.  The “letting go” has begun.