The Magnificent Death (3)

You are rounding a bend on a slope. The trail has become thin from lack of use, the rains having nearly washed it away. A vague impression persisted but it was enough. Beneath your feet, the decomposing leaves smelt of wetness and earth, pine needles and moss. Death was here but not death. No sadness to it. No fear… You detect a rustling. You pause, still as a deer. Something was out there. Escaping you? Stalking you? You had no way of knowing. But you are not frightened. You ached to see it. Wishing whatever it was would come out to face you.

Many years ago, you were driving in the woods at night. It was late and it was completely dark. You’d rented a cabin with ______. Coming home from a roadhouse, drunk, attempting to find it. Turning a bend your headlights met two eyes. A deer? You stopped the car. A giant white owl stood like a ghost, staring right at you. Only for a moment. Then it was gone, disappearing into the darkest night. Such creatures were rare, even as far north as you were. Sometimes you think it was a vision. In time ______ would forget all about it. But you never did. You’ve been looking for that sacred animal ever since.

To be continued…

The Magnificent Death (2)

You’re hardly the first person to feel this way. Many fortunate people receive the blessings of The Great Outdoors. So many recovering alcoholics call nature their Higher Power. Good for them. They’re lucky and probably right. If God exists he’s out here. He made this. He created the Garden of Eden. Before we fucked it up. Long before you, indigenous people tread these very trails. They knew it, too: The Great Spirit. Too many people only experience nature once a year on vacation, on mandatory field trips taken from school, or worse, just in movies. No wonder its magic wore off. Maybe they weren’t paying attention – too busy looking at a screen instead of the sky. Still, you’re glad they’re not here. The trails are often deserted. Blessedly. It makes no difference to you. What others think. What they do. People no longer matter. Out here you feel no shame. Out here you is stoned immaculate.

To be continued…

The Magnificent Death (1)

Like many introverts, you find serenity in nature. Retreating into the woods, the hills or simply out on the lake fishing. Leaving the company of people. Entering a better place.

Drugs and alcohol once took you away from people. False prophets, malicious guides into dangerous places, they drew you inward. Left you there. Isolated. Like they say in AA, your brain is a very dangerous neighborhood.

So you go outside. Marin County has so many trails. Within minutes you are free. In nature means you’re never alone, even by yourself. It’s both hard to explain yet obvious. Solitude is company. You hike. You walk. You stand perfectly still. You can feel yourself breathe. No more waiting to exhale. Not here. The monumental redwoods and fragrant cypress are profound company. Called “The Sleeping Giant” by locals, Mt. Tamalpais lords over you like a sentinel.

Exaltation. Elevation. No matter the circumstances, if you open the door you will always feel better. It never fails. Misery comes when you forget that it’s here.

To be continued…

A few paragraphs about a fallen friend, the least I can do.

Police and fire engine sirens cut through the howling wind. Rain lashes onto the windows of my house, torrents of water falling from the sky. A blessing for drought stricken California but eerie in the moment. Especially when the moment lasts for two days and counting. This afternoon we lost power. Most everyone around here did. A tree fell taking power lines with it. Then another. And another.

And then mine. It toppled over at the root line. The saturated earth could no longer bear the weight. Horizontal became vertical.

My daughter saw it first. Or rather the absence of it. My wife asked me to stake the tree back up. Like I said shorn from the roots. Staking it would be like trying to plant a telephone pole. And so I dragged it off to the gravel pit beside the trampoline. What else could I do? It left a wake of pink and purple petals in the grass.

As the rain poured down upon me I gazed at the fallen tree. It had been here almost as long as I had, first barely flirting with the lone window of my office, then towering above it. I can recall looking up from my desk on sunny days and seeing hummingbirds zipping among its colorful blooms. At night hawk moths, their curly tongues (proboscis) drawing nectar from the flowers in moon glow. I’m not going to say it was my muse. Writing advertising copy doesn’t require such things. But it was beside me when I wrote everything I wrote.

Bigger trees fell during this storm, causing much chaos. Crew filled yellow trucks. Soggy, irritable claims adjusters taking notes in the rain. Blaring car alarms. This tree did none of that. It just fell. When nobody was looking. But make no mistake: it was there.

On Tuesday the same gardeners who planted it will saw it up and take it away. Come spring, we will likely put in another. But for now this one is lying on the gravel, probably not even fully aware it’s dead. Or that it will be missed.

The insect kingdom: Even nature has a digital vibe.

Firefly

Blackberry

I was sitting on my front porch this weekend, at twilight, smoking a cheap cigar and listening to the cicadas and crickets rev up for the evening. It’s a strange racket they make, when you sit back and think about it. Whirring, clicking and even beeping, they sound… almost digital. It was as if the sun went down and all our devices crawled outside and… Oh my God, it’s Night of the Living Blackberries!

It hit me how similar insects look and sound to the myriad devices we all harbor: hard, shiny skins, black or translucent or wild in color. The aforementioned noises some of them make. The way they move: click, click, click. Shining intermittently, fireflies (actually beetles) remind me of my Blackberry… Or is it the other way around?

Not many people know this about me but when I was a boy I had a thing for insects. I collected butterflies and moths, raising them from caterpillars to adults. Waking up to a giant Cecropia Moth crawling up my bookshelf is a sight not soon forgotten. I kept a box of crickets on the back porch, much to our cat’s delight. For a time I even had a pet Black Widow spider, much to my mom’s horror. I named her Killer Queen.

Cecropia Moth, surprisingly common in Chicago

The attraction was more than skin deep. I tore into books and movies about the insect kingdom. I must have read my Time Life book of Insects a million times. I learned about metamorphosis and exoskeletons and the differences between species and all their various idiosyncrasies. In college, I parlayed this knowledge into a minor in entomology. Needless to say, I probably know more about insects than any of you.

I know what you’re thinking: what a dork! Perhaps but I met my future wife showing her my collection of butterflies and moths.

And so I watch and listen to these amazing creatures, remembering a time before PC’s and smart phones, being a boy, an odd one at that, chasing fireflies and collecting moths by the porch light. And then my phone starts buzzing, like a June bug. Happy summer, everyone!