The gnarled ancient oak sits leaning into the
river bank covered in a heavy crust of moss. Holes peppered it's bark
from years of worms, woodpeckers and carpenter ants. Limbs bent and
twisted, reaching to dip over the cool crisp runoff from the mountains
surrounding the placid lake. A slight breeze teases the leaves but is
not enough to stir the branches. The majestic tree has lined this shore
for years, watching life progress at a steady, sedate pace. Boats
carrying passengers of all ages and nationalities passed this shoreline
bringing settlers to the surrounding area. Homes dot the landscape
clinging precariously to the mountain side, blending into the landscape
beside aspen and evergreen. Once there were only a scattering of log
cabins hidden deep within the peaks. Now rustic contemporary homes
surrounded by wrapped porches gaze out over lush foliage admiring the
visage of the ranges weaving through the countryside.
Seasons change the views as Spring growth, moves to the heaviness of
Summer, the beauty of Autumn flora and white of the Winter. Cubs alight
from the dens of their mothers as the cycle of life renews. Nests are
built for both squirrels and birds high above the ground where predators
lurk. Puma teach their young to forage while rabbit and otter instruct
theirs to evade. A lone eagle circles above peering down at the
bighorn sheep scaling the shale, negotiating the precipices of rock it
calls home.
I too walk these
paths, venturing into wilds, climbing rock, stretching muscles and mind
as each focus on their tasks. The air is raw with the chill of the
approaching changes of winters arrival. Autumn graces the leaves that
crunch beneath my feet, mixed in with the cushion of pine needles.
Century old aspen are bare, dead from the bore beetles that have
destroyed acres of these stately timber. Blue laces through the tan of
the wood, marbling like an artists watercolor. It will take years to
clean the forests of the dead wood to allow nature to replenish.
Controlled burns will need to happen to achieve the renewal of life. I
run my hand over one such beauty, with the white smooth bark standing
tall beside me with its leaves of brown. Newer growth, not damaged, is
dressed in an array of yellows and reds in bright contrast to the
brown.
Life must change.
Nature evolves taking with it the strong as well as the weak. Trees
like the oak leaning, dipping into the lake withstand while others as
old and proud whither from natural selection. I too will eventually
whither and die like the aspen, replaced and replenished as settlers
have been over the changes of the seasons. It is only right. While I
can enjoy, embrace, value what surrounds me, I will. I will not grieve
but rejoice over the sapling I notice clinging and in the fortitude of
my old friend as he stands against the lake, bearing testimony to the
ages.
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