Golden Larch Forest

Lightning sparks earth to sky.  Thunder cracks, dynamite exploding across the ridge. Wind shakes the evergreens. Tinderbox branches erupt.  Kindling scorched to flame. Seed cones pop, spewing seeds.

Rains come. Snows come. Sun melts the long shadows. Spring returns to the mountain. Larch seedlings poke through the ash blanket. 

Golden phoenix rising, a new forest born from the ashes.

Growth Rings

Concentric circles expand ever outward from the heartwood, season-after season, cycle after cycle; another year, another ring of growth.

Sacred Grove

In an old-growth forest, pine, fir and larch stand side-by-side. Gnarled branches grow intertwined, becoming one tree reaching for the heavens. A warm breeze hums softly through the thick needles, while treetops sway together in a primeval dance.

I stand at the altar.

Pine Cone Midden

Squirrel guards his hoard of buried treasure, a winter's lair beneath an ancient fallen log. . Alarmed, squirrel chatters a shrill warning, and dives into the catacomb beneath the ancient grove. 

Emerging, beyond the immense roots, squirrel vaults up to the pine's twisted branches, knocking cones down ward. Leaping to the next ponderosa, squirrel gnaws on cones, and pine seeds rain to the forest floor. Racing down the rigid trunk, squirrel gathers the fresh cones, dashing with them into the maze of tunnels.

I bend to discover the husked seed, like an archeologist, sifting through a midden.

Forest Flora

Beneath the thickly matted fir and pine needles of the old-growth forest, oregon grape roots shoot out mustard yellow runners. Lush purple elderberries grow over the crystal-clear spring swelling out from an underground pool. Raspberries form a thick bramble along the cool, tumbling creek waters.

On the hillsides, fields of St. John's Wort gleam yellow and green amongst the native grasses. Tall spires of mullein grow in the disturbed earth.

I walk slowly through a meadow of rich medicine.

A forest in my hand...

Towering, majestic ponderosas with cinnamon-red bark, pose overhead with twisted, turned branches reaching skyward. I feel humbled by the immensity of the trees sculpted like mammoth bonsais in the mountain basin. Lodged between the giant roots,and feathered out through the pine needles, I gather the fallen seed.

At high noon, I cradle a forest of dormant seed in the palm of my hand- a sacred offering to return to the earth.

Gathering Pine Seed

Ponderosa pine cones burst in the summer heat, expelling seeds from sienna-colored cones on heavy branches. Seeds glide to earth on parchment-hued wings floating on a gentle breeze. Blustering storm winds fling seed far afield from the mother tree.

The winged seed spins round and round on a miniature propeller nose diving down to earth. Each seed glides into a soft landing amid deep beds of long ponderosa pine needles or onto parched summer soil.

A single seed becomes a giant.