Tuesday, January 5th, 2010

Servants

Toronto, Ontario

The trail on Moore Park Ravine was a whisper-friendly space. Quiet wind hurled barren looking trees. One of those trees gave a crack of a sound. I looked and could not detect which tree was speaking. It was one of those swaying giants behind me though.

Maybe the one trying to communicate was trying to release itself; its soul wanting freedom. The snap, crack or pop sound came again. At least I know that the forest was expressing its fragility through the sound because one week prior when I made this trek, a few meters behind a tree did made its crash. It had done its service and now it was time for its demise and its soul to jump to its next form.

I was not there when he came down for the tumble. I did not have to shout “timber!” like some lumberjack. I did not have to play beaver and move him on to build a lodge. I let him be, had to let him be. Not enough strength. The park’s wardens would do that because that jolly giant became an obstacle for trekkers and runners.

Anyways, I was alone but not alone. I was with them – the trees. And I was with their maker.

It was a dark but a perceptive early night because of the presence of nature’s frozen milk – the snow. It was all white; nothing yellow even though dogs make their way through here with their masters.

In truth, there was only one master in this ravine, and I and the trees were the servants, equally.

9 Km