rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Dawn Thoughts

Trees are now ink against cloudless cerulean sky, and the waning crescent moon, still bright for the moment, approaches its zenith. By the time it has reached that point, it will have faded to near invisibility. But the day is yet a dim promise, and the first robin chirps as my window curtains catch a cool breeze and billow, like ghosts entering the room. I go out to view the morning. Gazing at the glow which crests the eastern ridges, I see the fairly young oak which failed to leaf out this year. It abuts a neighbor's lawn, and probably gets too much water. It will have to be taken out soon, but for now its nearly bare yet graceful branches and twigs present an odd but not unpleasant contrast with the lush summer foliage around it. Even decline and decay bring beauty to the woodlands. Once the tree has died and been removed, its roots will give rise to a fairy ring which will appear again and again, the fungi moving outward year by year, forming a larger and larger circle until the process of recycling they carry out is complete. More than a thousand mornings will pass before their job is done. I have marked years by such things, and may mark more, but the intricate tracery of the bare branches, so like a timeless Japanese drawing, yet less likely to survive as long, are a reminder of the inexorable passage of finite days. I remember the fairy ring that marked the maple that once stood on my front lawn. I watched its progress for several years, and then one day I realized with a slight surprise that it had not returned in several months. The tree falls and makes a sound, and the silent, memorial ring spreads like slow ripples and is gone, unnoticed.

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