I am a tree, broad and tall, standing forlorn in the wilderness.  I am possessed with memories, but not possessor of those memories.

Unlike the creature of my memory, I see with my leaves:  Above me, the sun, bright with fire.  Here and there, clouds, bringers of rain, harbingers of storm.  Around me, more trees, both large and small.  Between them, the grass, protector of the soil, a blanket for the filaments of my foundation.

Unlike the creature of my memory, I feel with my roots:  The soft community of sand-grains, who nonetheless support me with their strength.  Between them, water, sweet, but with the bitter after-taste of minerals.  Then hard buttresses, two massive shoulders of rock crushing in upon the vein of sand, themselves veined, in turn, with a web of my finest capillaries.

And there, between the bastions, is the creature of my memory, what remains of him, a curl of leather, coil of bronze and bundled bones.  He, who was foster parent, nourishment and nursery for the acorn that I was.
Cernunnos

Pan, Cernunuos, The Green Man?  Perhaps, or any man seeking oneness with the Mother Earth.  He is the creature of my memory.  I know him well.  How he withdrew from the community of others.  Hard communities, unloving, followers of upstart gods, not soft and supportive like my friendly drift of sand.

I know how he sought the wilderness, this rare, forgotten wilderness, protected by the laws of nature, how he chose an acorn, me! And how he placed me on his tongue and burrowed in the sand.  How he thought himself away from motion, from breath and eventually from life.

Now his memories possess me.  I am a tree, but not just a tree, I am also the protector of his memory.

Copyright The Mundesley Hermit ©1997 & 2007.  All rights reserved.

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