I had a break. A drive to Devon - via a walk in Bristol, about which more tomorrow. Before I set out, I saw Bobbit - which was a relief as I hadn't seen him the previous day. But there was also sad news: Elise told me that the oak by the well (you'll see links to two posts about this tree at the bottom) had fallen on 1st November 2023.
I arrived in the dark, but the next morning, walked out to the tree.
I was greeted by a robin.
But the broken tree was devastating.
I know that fallen oaks are great habitat. That there are more living cells in a dead tree. And yet... It feels awful. The promise that I would go home one day feels broken.
I climbed up one of the trunks and sat there. Trying to sense into the tree. All I could feel was acceptance. Composure. But my mind and heart railed against it! I am not wise.
I can create stories... how the octopus arms of the tree embrace this central grove. How its heart may be broken, but the deep well of wisdom is revealed. Are these stories consoling? No, not really. Though they do not feel entirely like confabulation.
The oak has fallen. But home is still home. The oak has fallen. But the young oaks stand still. The oak has fallen.
My condolences about the fallen old oak. I hope you do find consolation in the ways that you have honoured this tree. Thanks for including the older posts. The young oaks are hopeful new beginnings. And it's special that you saw a robin that day.