This has turned into a weekend of car repair and grading student writing. But last Friday M. and I did manage to fit in a short cross-country ramble in the Wets. In some shadowed ravine I bumped into that forest god again.
Or, to use technical language, it is a sort of "irruption of the numenous."
You're walking through the woods, and there, in a tiny clearing, you see a man-high young fir tree, all perky and perfect, every needle sharp, blue-green in the sun.
On its needles has fallen a shower of golden coins--the golden, rounded leaves of aspen trees. The little fir seems to have its "hands" out snatching leaves from the shower of gold.
It is full of shining power--and it's just a fir tree.
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