December 2014
Skeletons and broken limbs, old friends
of two or three centuries passing seasons
in one another’s shade, listening
to fathers telling sons how to survive.
Clumps of brown and yellow mistletoe
hang from arms like grapes becoming raisins,
all giving-in and giving-up their ghosts,
their loosening bark in lieu of acorns
to this bear invasion as the canyons
and draws crawl with shaggy scavengers
after the war is over—as the slowly fading
wounded watch, brittle roots without water.
This old girl will never be the same,
not reclaim her lush good looks
for generations that will never know
the difference nor her endless bounty.
Nothing stays the same beyond the void
of emptiness—everlasting, ever changing.
October 14, 2015 – Greasy, Horse Lot
drycrikjournal 
Terrific eulogy . . .
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Love this, Dad.
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A very sad picture. Can only hope this is a major battle lost and not the war. How many young kids have marveled at the acorn? Why do some lie there without a cap and others complete? At what point does the cap detach? How many have tried to find the cap that fits the acorn we hold? How many faces have been carved on them with their little hats? How the heck does a turkey digest one?
Will our grand kids have the opportunity to discover the oak? The acorn, the galls, gather mistletoe for Christmas? Sit beneath one in camouflage with a box call or shed antler to bring a critter close? How much wildlife will suffer from the loss?
Alas, all that remains is to watch as it gives it’s last in images among dancing flames
The mighty oak. Often under appreciated, like our elderly…until they pass.
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It’s definitely a new chapter. Hard to say what percentage will survive, especially this time of year, but the landscape’s changed, and changed for a long time. We’ll have enough accessible cordwood for a long time.
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BTW, this one is definitely one for the book! The vacation just keeps on giving.
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