Tag Archives: forests

Two Trees

2 trees

A man and woman have four children–two boys and two girls.  The same seed…the same egg.

One boy grows up, attends college and eventually becomes a doctor and later joins Doctors Without Borders.  His brother sits in a small cell at the Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora, NY.  He did something unspeakable to an eleven year old girl.  He has tats that identify him as a member of a gang based in Albany.  Many of his friends sit in similar cells–in similar jails–in three different states.

One of girls grows up and after sampling life in an New England college decides to join a cloistered convent and eventually will take a vow of silence and chastity.  Her sister walks the streets of the Lower East Side of Manhattan.  Anyone can buy her love and affection for $50.  She has several dozen needle marks on her arms and thighs.

The same seed…the same egg.

Two trees started life in a forgotten corner of the Adirondack forest.  They are rooted only nine inches apart.  Perhaps both from the same white pine that dropped its seed-laden cone seven years ago.

Now, one tree has added three inches of new growth to its needles in the Spring of 2016.  The other tree, a brother?…a sister? has turned completely brown.  It will not be utilizing photosynthesis again, ever.  It is the only dead tree in this small part of the forest.

Why does one living entity flourish and the other, linked by a genetic code, lose the spark of life?

Didn’t the alluring Cinderella have several despicable sisters?  Jeffery Dahmer had a sibling.  Cain and Abel were brothers.

Nature or Nurture?

Or, is it just an inexplicable aspect of life in general?  A question that has no answer–a riddle that has no solution–a prayer that has gone unheard…

boyandgirlholdinghands

[Source: Google search]

 

Do You Really Want To Go There?

Dark Lane 4 Blog

It’s early Autumn.  The air is crisp.  The broad leaves of the oaks and maples are sharp and bright in the sun.  Against the darker conifers, the reds and yellows are more muted–less distinct and less joyful.

There is a lane.  It seems to possess a faint voice calling for you to follow to wherever it leads.  The fair-haired, blue-eyed woman beside you urges you to take a few steps into the forest.  Her white hand suddenly is gripping your right forearm.  Without words she is telling you to not take another step.

“We don’t know where this path leads,” she says with her eyes.  You brush a red leaf from her soft hair.  You look down the lane again.  Something is urging you to explore–to follow the trail to its end.  On your left, a woman with dark eyes and pale flesh takes your hand.

“Come,” she whispers in your ear.  “We can’t keep them waiting.”

You look to your right.  The fair one has a distressed look as she stares down the lane.  Her hand trembles.

Turning your head, you see your car parked miles away.  How can this be?  You’ve only taken a few steps into the woods.  A breeze picks up a few leaves and stirs them at your feet.  The branches of the trees begin to weave and roll and shudder.

There is a tug at your right arm.

“Let’s go back,” the fair one says.  “I don’t like this.”

“Let’s move on,” your pale lover says.  “It’ll be good.  I’ll see to that.”

You are unable to move.  You stare into the distance and wonder where it will end and how far the walk will be.  Will there be a pool of clear water?  A bower of red and scarlet leaves?  An old farmhouse?  Does the backdoor–the screen door, bang in the wind?  Is the spring rusty?  Are the rooms empty?

Is there a house at all?  If not, why the road?  All roads lead to something in this forest.

You’re frozen with indecision.  You want to go forward and you want to run back to the car.

What about your lovers?  You look from left to right.  There is no one there.  Was anyone ever there?  Are you awake?  Is this a dream?

You look back at your car.  It is not in sight–there is no car.  Looking down, you see there is hardly a path.  It’s all overgrown.

A woman’s voice calls to you.  It’s a song–so very sad.  You’ve heard this lament before.  Nothing good can come of this, you’re thinking.  Nothing good.

It’s never good when you’re alone–in the woods when the sun begins to set.

The Moth

Moth

There are stories told around the world about a strange figure referred to as The Mothman.  These are compelling stories that are, it is claimed, substantiated by eye-witness accounts and news articles.  A Hollywood film was made about the Mothman, which starred Richard Gere.  It was a pretty good film.  Apparently, the figure of the (a) Mothman appears just prior to some kind of urban disaster.  It was chronicled that the thing, whatever it or he is, appeared before a major bridge collapse somewhere in the mid-south.  It’s visage has been reported in many locations.  Perhaps an Urban Legend?  Perhaps a Supernatural Event?  Anyway you look at it, it is a scary and slightly Apocalyptic event.

But, that’s not what this post is about.  If the Mothman interests you, Google it.  You won’t be disappointed.

No, the idea of this particular blog came to me as I sat, on this warm and partly cloudy afternoon, in our screened-in porch, staring at my next book project.  Some might say I was procrastinating.  Others, who know me better, will realize that I was lost in deep creative thought…the kind that has brought me such amazing financial success with my previous four books (all available on Amazon, by the way).

I let my mind drift for a nano-second from character arcs and chapter opening “hooks”.  That’s when I saw the Moth on the screen of our screened-in porch.  I don’t mention the screened-in porch simply to impress those of my readers that don’t have such a thing.  I mention it because it is an integral part of this post.

You see, I don’t like bugs very much.

I do understand that bugs (insects, if you wish) do play a really big part of life here in the North Country.  From the black flies, mosquitoes, gnats, spiders and house flies, the world of anyone living up here is ruled by these insects nine months out of the year.  They’re all part of the “Cycle of Life”, I get that.  I just don’t like them on my arm, neck or forehead.  Once we had lots of bats that kept the mosquito population down to a slightly manageable level.  Then the bats contracted something called “white nose disease” and the population spiked…downward.  You don’t have to be an entomologist to see that when that happens, the flying insect population rises.

Where did this “white nose disease” come from?  Well, anyone with half a brain and half an education can see that it’s part of the Global Warming Hoax perpetrated by NASA, NOAA, the Defense Department and Obama as part of a plan to take our guns away.  But that’s another blog.  Look for that story on my “other” blog site where I write under the pseudonym, “Skeeter”.

So, I’m here still staring at this moth, safely behind the screen.  You can see the screen if you look carefully at the photo.  Now, I know most species of moths are not venomous or leave infected welts the size of Canadian quarters on your shoulder…right where you can’t scratch it until it bleeds.

But it’s not just the moths.  I look against the screen of the kitchen window where a bright light is often burning until I retire an hour or two after midnight.  The things that cling to the outside of the screen defy description.  I have about four Peterson Field Guide To Insects Of The Northern Forest books.  I’ve tried to identify some of these “things” and I can’t find them in the book.  What are they?

Sometimes, late at night, I read by a LED lamp while in bed.  ALL the windows have screens in our house.  ALL the screens are tightly closed.  Yet, I find myself buzzed by strange bugs that resemble lightning bugs but they’re bigger…and they don’t blink.  I swat at them.  I flick at them.  Once one landed on the page I was reading.  I slammed the book shut and the next morning I found an unspeakable smudge, of a color I will not describe in mixed company, obliterating the word “destiny”.  At least that what I thought the word was.  I hadn’t even read that paragraph yet so I’m only guessing at what the word was.  I found you can’t use Windex to take bug residue off a printed page without making things worse.

But, it makes sense, doesn’t it?  It was the word “destiny”.  And this was Nature’s way of telling me what my future will be like if I stay in these North Woods.

It’s odd that we do everything to keep the crawling, biting, sucking and stinging creatures out of our home, but, when we go out into their home, the forest, they put their defenses as well.

I guess that one really has to love nature to be willing to spill your own blood over it.