I went to the ruined church because I needed to check on the beech tree. Once there I took a walk around and was fascinated by the holes in the walls.
I wondered if bats were hibernating inside and if birds ever used them.
I thought about my internal hollowing. How it is so empty unless filled with the world when I am outside and looking at living creatures and engrossed in who they are instead of who I am not.
And this one.
How good it would be to break through. To turn the hollow into a conduit. To let life flow through me.
By the gate there is a dead tree.
Such beauty in the dying.
And yet, of course,that is not quite true. While I look at the lava of the volcano in Hawaii, and register the glory of it, I could not feel the same, I think, were that molten rock roiling and boiling over forests. Jonathan Frantzen in What If we Stopped Pretending talks of a forest fire he saw in Germany. A wood lark streaming from the blazing trees. And he says that she will have left her nest behind.
Comments