MONSTER TREE
by Gwen Austin Copyright 1998 When did I stop fearing the contorted monster tree, whose gnarled form repelled, yet beckoned me? The child-me scurried past the monster tree as I lugged milk-filled bottles from neighbor farm to home. Choosing outer path, farthest from lurking monster tree, I let it be. Then, one day, I forgot and passed close by. I halted, looked it in the eye. Intrigued by extraordinary grain pattern, I ventured nearer and truly beheld that monster tree. My less-fear-filled eyes did finally see the startling beauty of my monster tree. I stroked its weathered flanks of mica-silver-gray, marveled at its smoothness where ridged bark had sloughed away. My fingers and eyes explored this monster I had abhored. Each knot, scar, whorl yielded creative texture. Had it once been a proud one straining for light beneath leafy canopy? Had lightning or wind smote it to its knee, in spread-eagle ignominy? Had a sawyer felled it and cast it thus, to grovel in earth and dust? I pondered, as camera in hand, I surveyed the hulking carcass and truly did see my monster-friend tree.
The rippling lake effect is courtesy of David Griffiths.
Click on the button below to go to his site.