Oak-corns & Apple-thorns
Modred November, 2011
Out ‘n’ About Before Dawn
Rain is falling, and the faintest glow is visible in the sky, promising a sunrise well over an hour away. The air is cool and no frogs are chirping. The patter of rain on my hat brim and the squeak of my boots on the pavement seem loud to me; but they are small sounds, as impossibly small as the beat of my heart. I am tiny in the darkness, invisible. I tug my hat down a little tighter and move off down the street.
There is no one on the road and few lights are visible in suburban windows. The soft rain has encouraged even dedicated early risers to snuggle deeper into the sheets for an extra slice of warmth and peace, leaving a generous portion of solitude for me. My neighbors’ dogs do not hear me, or do not care. None bark as I pass.
I know the moon is still up but I cannot see her through the clouds. Raindrops miss my hat brim as I search, looking up and around. They fall on my face and send sparks through my senses. The smells and sounds, the breeze and the life-giving water falling from the sky, are miracles. At times like this, just breathing in and out and is a wonderment and a blessing.
Turning down a street at random, I move along the block. A car inches down the street, tossing out newspapers that fall with loud thumps. I take a few more turns, paying time no attention. I am ambling now, wandering, letting the morning take me where it wants me to go.
Around another corner my bearings return. Ahead I see her standing there, a white oak forty feet high with a spreading green crown more majestic than that of the most powerful queen the world has ever known. This is my unknown destination, what has drawn me this way. I walk up to her, acorns crunching beneath my feet, and place a hand on her bark in greeting. How rich it is, more detailed than the greatest oil painting in the greatest gallery.
I recall the fatally hot summer afternoon years ago when we first met. Suffering from the extreme heat, I had staggered into her shade on the verge of collapse. She had revealed her spirit to me that day, cooled and calmed me, showed me her deepest secrets, perhaps even saved my life. What manner of living thing, I wonder, could be so giving as to share so close an intimacy on first meeting? How open and unselfish must such a creature be at heart? Which of us could be counted upon to be so caring of a total stranger?
Thanking her aloud, I circle her thrice as my hand traces her rough bark around. My fingers are the needle of a phonograph and her trunk a record; the resulting music stirs me past words.
The sun will be up soon. Work, obligations, and machines are calling me back. I turn my boots toward home. No matter where the day leads me, I will walk in the knowledge that there is a vast world beyond the world, a place filled with mysteries and friends most will never allow themselves to see.
