Even in the crunch of summer drought, there is a quality of light in the well-watered valleys and forested mountains of the Oregon Coast Range that softens everything. Midday sun shatters and falls between needled boughs of Douglas-fir. Shards of sunlight are smoothed by broad leaves of salal, Oregon hazelnut, and vine maple. Exuberant vegetation imposes itself on the light in more subtle ways. Pores of needle and leaf exhale oxygen and water, and the humidity becomes is a velvety haze across the distances. Even in summer I can feel airborne water impinging on my pores, breathe evergreen growth and needle rot into the dark spaces of my lungs. This internal accumulation of light and water is subliminal. It gathers me in and gentles the hard edges of my brain.
I entered your piece gently into that subliminal quality of light in the forest and the way of the Swainson's thrush call and song--and yet the light you describe had a foreboding, too,--words like shatters and shards. And then...there comes the incredible bravery, honesty, courage, and ultimately an offering of what it is to forgive, to let go, to replace the dry rot with a new board.. So many scars carried forward. I have to think there' a connection to the clearcutting of forests--this ruthless testosterone-filled domination. And yet-the forest can slowly knit back scars and all if we will break that cycle and learn to live in relationship. So much more to contemplate...a rich, deep, and beautifully written essay. Thank you.
whew .. wasn’t ready for this one.. i know “just enough” and guessed the rest along the way .. your writing is extraordinary as always and this story particularly needed to be brought forward. I sobbed and ugly cried and am still sobbing with grief .. the history explains so much…about people I love and people i have loved . through the tears I am grateful for you and your ability and willingness to share your journey… I know it helps guide and shine a light through the darkness that those we love walk in from time to time… Much love
I loved this story of your memories and the way you write is so beautiful. I cried in parts because I understood what you were feeling. Beautiful, I wish you were my next door neighbor.....to communicate with......Love,
I entered your piece gently into that subliminal quality of light in the forest and the way of the Swainson's thrush call and song--and yet the light you describe had a foreboding, too,--words like shatters and shards. And then...there comes the incredible bravery, honesty, courage, and ultimately an offering of what it is to forgive, to let go, to replace the dry rot with a new board.. So many scars carried forward. I have to think there' a connection to the clearcutting of forests--this ruthless testosterone-filled domination. And yet-the forest can slowly knit back scars and all if we will break that cycle and learn to live in relationship. So much more to contemplate...a rich, deep, and beautifully written essay. Thank you.
Really enjoyed this one, Tom.
whew .. wasn’t ready for this one.. i know “just enough” and guessed the rest along the way .. your writing is extraordinary as always and this story particularly needed to be brought forward. I sobbed and ugly cried and am still sobbing with grief .. the history explains so much…about people I love and people i have loved . through the tears I am grateful for you and your ability and willingness to share your journey… I know it helps guide and shine a light through the darkness that those we love walk in from time to time… Much love
Thank you for this. I said that I know too much, but nothing changes without knowing. Onward with the journey. <3
I loved this story of your memories and the way you write is so beautiful. I cried in parts because I understood what you were feeling. Beautiful, I wish you were my next door neighbor.....to communicate with......Love,